


Love Language (fluent in your)

by Vracs



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, domestic bliss in these hard covid times, no really they dont smooch til 26 oop, soft soft soft, the doctor AU nobody asked for, the slowest burn to ever burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2020-06-29 03:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 75,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19821616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vracs/pseuds/Vracs
Summary: Eve's a successful trauma & orthopaedic surgeon, cool as a cucumber in the face of danger. Then Konstantin gets a new anaesthetic registrar.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to @pumpkinlub on Tumblr for the gif set and the idea.

//

She’s in the staff room when her bleep goes off.

Trauma call.

Fifteen years of doing this and Eve’s neck still prickles at the sound, pulse jack-hammering in her ears as the automated voice blares through her pager. It’s followed by two further bleeps in quick succession. She knows it’s Jess. Or Hugo. They’re both on-call with her.

She throws her theatre hat off and makes a run for the door, down two corridors, four flights of stairs, past Costa (she’s desperate for a coffee) and Marks & Spencer’s (desperate for a sandwich, too) and straight to A&E.

It takes seconds to push her way through the crowd of staff and patients milling around – some on crutches, others in beds, most of them waiting propped in doorways or on seats for God knows how much longer.

The hospital’s been on code red all week.

She stops to catch her breath when she sees Hugo hovering by the phone at the nurses’ station, pen in one hand and paper in the other, waiting.

“Where’s Jess?”

He motions towards the resuscitation bay where Eve can hear a cacophony of loud sounds: machines beeping, the rhythmic slam of a bed as someone does CPR, a distraught wailing noise coming from the far end of the bay, and instructions – clear and resonant, barked confidently by the senior A&E consultant.

She steps into the chaos of it all, yanking Hugo with her.

“Write everything. Starting with the time. Don’t fuck this up.”

Jess is already at the bedside of the most critically injured casualty.

The multi-collision double-decker RTA had infiltrated the department like a flood, spilling across Majors and into Resus until they were both filled to the brim.

Eve watches Jess do a secondary survey. She’s surrounded by doctors in scrubs of all colours – green A&E SHOs, registrars and their black consultants, blue members of the intensive care unit and surgical team, pink for the anaesthetists.

She grabs the ultrasound trolley and jumps to Jess’ side.

“You carry on. I’ll FAST him.”

They work meticulously together. They always have. Jess had by far been the best registrar Eve had ever been given. She looked forward to the times when their nights overlapped, or even their days off, usually spent in the pub or at the local park.

She runs the probe over the comatose patient’s thorax and abdomen, scanning for internal bleeding, hand steady but slicked with sweat. She barely hears Jess hand over to her – male, nineteen, cyclist, head on collision – before she’s being flocked by the surgeons.

She reports the findings to them: ruptured spleen, flail segment which may or may not go into pneumothorax, she can’t be sure of a cardiac tamponade, but possibly. Certainly no traumatic dissection. Jess had already told her about the suspected tib-fib fracture she’ll have to get her own team to fix.

She watches the body in front of her jostle as dozens of hands work to prep it for the CT scanner and then for theatre.

There’s a collar around his neck, the rest of him bare and strapped to a spinal board.

Briefly, she wonders who this kid was – where was his family? A girlfriend, maybe? Was he in college? Why was he on a goddamn bike and not in the middle of class? And why the _fuck,_ hadn't he worn a helmet?

A deep part of her seethes. In her time as the head of Trauma & Orthopaedics, she’d seen her fare share of people doing dumb shit and she’d secretly grown to despise every single one of them. Helmetless cyclists were up there, if not top of her list. Then again, they provided her with a steady and rewarding financial income, so.

She stares at the boy as the nurse hooks him up to a bag of blood. She knows he’s teetering on the precipice of life, right beneath her hands. She looks at his face – dirty blonde hair over panda eyes, cheeks smattered with blood and freckles. This was somebody’s incredibly stupid but incredibly important child.

And it was exactly why she did her job.

Before she can get too sentimental, Dr Vasiliev nods at her from the head of the bed, ripping her away from her reverie.

“Eve?”

“Yeah.”

“Airway – it is secured. Are you ready?”

She watches Konstantin’s gloved hands cradle the patient’s neck, endotracheal tube attached to a bag and mask. On the end of it is one of Konstantin’s juniors, pumping oxygen into the boy’s lungs as his chest rises and falls symmetrically, much to her relief. No pneumothorax after all.

“Ready.”

Aside from an emergency splenectomy for the general surgeons and a quick once-over from cardiothoracics, on Eve’s part, the cyclist is a quick patch-up job. She lets Jess do most of the work – joint resurfacing at the tibial plateau, then a plate and screws for the rest.

She’d always been taught that long bones lost the most blood, stealthy and invisible right up until the patient crashed into hypovolaemic shock.

Luckily, Jess works quickly to fix the problem - Eve’s all too happy to play assistant this time.

She watches Konstantin pour over his Sudoku across the operating table.

He’s wearing a hat with ducks on it today. She’d asked him about it weeks ago, during one of their elective lists.

 _Irina likes it,_ he’d told her. That had made her laugh – the great Dr Konstantin Vasiliev, bowing down to his eleven-year-old daughter’s every whim. She’d seen him single-handedly end the careers of three house officers, argue with Dr Carolyn Martens over accepting a dubious intensive care transfer (and win), intubate a patient mid-Grand Mal just outside of Costa, and make the most delicious Stroganoff six vodkas in.

She had _not_ seen him get bossed by a child. Needless to say, she was dying to.

“So, Konstantin.”

He looks up from his puzzle.

“When’s our next dinner date?”

His eyes light up as he chuckles. “You want me to drink you under the table again?”

Eve laughs beneath her surgical mask. It’s itchy and sweaty and makes her visor fog up, but she hopes her eyes alone convey just how much she really loves him.

“I can hold my own.”

“You are _Korean_ , Eve. It is no contest.”

When she glances to Jess, she finds her nodding in agreement. If she wasn’t busy suturing, Eve would shove her.

“Okay, so invite me over so we can practise.”

Konstantin leans back in his chair. A quick glance at the observation monitor to make sure things are running smoothly followed by an indulgent sip of his steaming coffee. Eve would kill for some caffeine.

“I am on-call this weekend.”

“Well, shit. How about the next?” she shrugs. “Wait – no, the next, I have a thing – with Niko.”

The eye-roll Jess gives doesn’t go unnoticed. Nor does Konstantin’s groan.

“How about the next?”

Konstantin puts his Sudoku to the side and rises from his chair. He approaches the operating table, careful not to touch anything.

“How is that SHO of yours?”

“Shit,” Jess mumbles before Eve can.

Eve feels her blood boil. Since the swap-over in August, Hugo had been a bit of a loose cannon. On a good morning, he’d waltz in half-way through instead of after the ward round had finished, notes unprepped and most of his jobs discarded or incomplete from the day before.

Part of her felt shame. He was _her_ responsibility. Bar him, all her trainees had sailed through foundation without so much as a missed bag of fluids.

This week alone, Hugo had forgotten to prescribe anticoagulation for every single one of Eve’s post-ops, left a geriatric patient nil-by-mouth with no IVs, and not bothered to request the x-rays Eve had asked for.

He _had_ bought her pastries though, one morning over a shit-eating grin. So, there’s that.

“He – I can’t quite figure out if he just doesn’t care or…” she helps Jess un-scrub, then proceeds to take off her own mask and gown.

Konstantin grins at her. “I have a new one as well.”

Eve brightens. She wonders if he’s going to tell her all about it, like he does every four months when the trainees rotate.

“A registrar.”

“ _Oh_.” So, not a four-month rotation then. “So?”

There’s a smirk, hidden somewhere in his greying beard. He strokes it mysteriously, then laughs.

“I like her.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s funny.”

“Really.”

“Sure. Very smart.”

“Good!” Eve tosses the last of her gear in the bin and pats him on the shoulder as she follows Jess out of the operating theatre. “Let me know if you want to swap!” she calls out.

“An SHO for a registrar? You are a joker, Eve.”

She throws Konstantin a wink, then retraces her steps despite herself, to give him a parting one-armed hug.

“Thank you for today. Drinks after work? Since you can’t do the weekend.”

“ _Now_ you have a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1 for more tomfoolery!


	2. Chapter 2

//

She pops up between lists to check on the ward, scan for shit-storms and make sure things are prepped for the afternoon.

Jess was manning Outpatients which means she’d been left doing ACL repairs all morning by herself. She’s running on empty.

“Kenny!”

He looks up from the nurses’ station, instantly nervous, a cannulation tray held in his hands. “Good morning! Oh – afternoon,” he winces. “How are you, Ms Polastri?”

“ _Eve_ ,” she laughs. She’d watched him go through primary _and_ secondary school, graduate with four A-stars, slog his way through a nursing degree with high honours (despite her best efforts to persuade him down the surgical route), not to mention his mother was undoubtedly the most intimidating woman Eve had ever met in her life. And yet. Ms Polastri was his title of choice.

“Mum says I’m not to call you that.”

Eve joins his side, forearms resting against the counter as she gives the contents of the tray a proper once-over.

“Why are you cannulating?”

There’s a moment, so brief and clear, where Kenny’s eyes widen like a doe’s, the angles of his cheeks turning crimson as he shrugs.

“We weren’t very busy this morning, so - ”

“We had three NOF admissions overnight,” she reminds him gently.

“Yeah, but sister said - ”

“And it’s,” she glances at her fob watch, “midday, _so_ ,” she leans back, one hand in the pocket of her scrubs so she can watch him squirm a little. She can’t help but grin. “Shouldn’t you be doing drug rounds?”

Kenny nods quietly.

Eve leans to him. “Why the cannula tray, Kenny?”

Before he can answer, a shriek of laughter erupts from the bay next door and instantly grabs Eve’s attention. She peers through the glass panel. 

Hugo.

He’s wearing an Oxford shirt and obnoxious salmon pink chinos today, stethoscope slung haphazardly around his neck, lanyard tangled around it. He hasn’t rolled his sleeves. Again.

Eve’s about to storm over and tear him a new one when it dawns on her.

Hugo is in fact, having lunch with Mrs Allsopp – an eccentric widow from Camberwell in her mid-seventies, who’d been admitted in renal failure the night before, having been picked up off the floor by her neighbour.

He’s sitting at the foot of her bed, flirting with her from the looks of things, over egg and cress sandwiches, and she’s in hysterics.

Something inside Eve thaws.

 _You can’t teach empathy_ , she thinks. _Then again, you can teach the basics of infection control._

Instead of letting herself sink into a grump, she watches for a moment as Hugo pours Mrs Allsopp more tea, and then proceeds to help readjust her catheter bag.

She grabs the tray from Kenny who stares at her, gobsmacked, and moves to join the two of them at the bedside.

“Hugo.”

Hugo gestures at her dramatically. “ _Ah!_ The big boss.”

“This young man was telling me he’s going to take me dancing!”

Eve stares at the patient, then back at Hugo again, eyes narrowed with concern.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. Soon as we get her hip fixed,” he winks. “Right, Maur?”

 _“Maur”_ smiles brightly.

It’s a brilliant smile. Eve liked seeing her patients happy. Given the choice, she’d gladly spend more time on the ward than shackled to the operating table. But she also likes seeing her patients safe.

“I think he has a couple of things to finish before he breaks into a waltz,” she smiles warmly, then catches Hugo’s eye and pointedly stares at the tray.

“Cannula. Bed eight. Mrs Allsopp’s nil-by-mouth, so – unfortunately, no tea.”

Hugo cringes. He mouths a soft _shit._

She’ll get through to him. One day, she will. Today is not that day.

“We’re hopefully going to get you done this afternoon, Mrs Allsopp. You haven’t had any of these, have you?” she points to the sandwiches.

Hugo fiddles with his stethoscope sheepishly.

Her stomach coils.

“Christ - I’m sorry. It may be a little later than expected then?” she explains. _Try, another eight hours, at the least_. Maureen doesn’t seem to mind though, probably because Hugo had also promised, after her discharge, that he was going to become a regular visitor at her Bridge Club and by the way, very much looked forward to meeting her granddaughter.

Eve motions for him to get off the bed.

“We’re waiting for your kidney blood test to come back. Looking good though,” she motions to the nearly-full catheter bag, “hopefully you’ll be all set for this evening. Just don’t eat anything, okay?”

“Not even a custard cream?”

Eve laughs. _Brits and their obsession with biscuits_. “’Fraid not. But tomorrow? I’ll personally make sure Hugo comes in at seven and serves you breakfast himself.”

In the periphery of her vision, she sees Hugo’s mouth drop just as Mrs Allsopp’s eyes widen with anticipation.

“Cannula. Nil-by-mouth for her,” Eve motions to the whiteboard above the bed which clearly states this in red capital letters, “and then come down to assist. List starts at two. How’s our septic patient?”

“Gerald?”

“Mr Hughes,” she corrects

Hugo balances the tray in one hand as he roots around in his pocket for a crumpled piece of paper where he seems to have scribbled all his ward jobs and reminders.

“He is…” his eyes scan his notes, “okay? I think he’s scoring a four today.”

“For?”

He pulls a face. “Er – blood pressure, and…something else?”

Eve makes a mental note to go check on bay three before she heads back downstairs.

“Only one temperature spike though!” he grins proudly, as if he’d been the sole reason for Mr Hughes’ somewhat improved state.

“Still? After forty-eight hours? Call micro before you come down.” She watches him struggle to make note of this. “Oh, and Hugo?”

Hugo tips his chin. He’d been staring at the cannulation tray as if he’d never seen one before.

“Roll your sleeves up, for God’s sake. You’re going to start an MRSA outbreak.”

She finishes so late, the tubes have stopped, and she has to get an Uber home.

They’d only managed to get to Mrs Allsopp after evening drug rounds, somewhere between Eve's second packet of crisps and juice box of the day. The operation had been straight forward enough, but Konstantin hadn’t been there to anaesthetise, and in his place, she’d gotten a locum consultant who frighteningly, seemed to struggle telling his right from his left.

Hugo, on the other hand, had been an unexpected but good stand-in for Jess.

Despite her feminist views, Eve found that orthopaedic surgery often required that extra little bit of heavy lifting. Hugo made up in muscle what he lacked in common sense.

And he wasn’t a total disaster to chat to - when he wasn’t talking about _Glastonbury_ and _Catfish and the Bottlemen,_ which Eve still suspected was a brand of alcohol and not an indie band.

She’d sent him home after the op, leaving her to finish up the notes and debrief the rest of the theatre staff. One of them had sent her away with a spare croissant she’d gratefully scoffed down in the cab, vowing to bring in doughnuts the next day to make up for being a total dragon the entire evening.

The house is dark when she gets in.

She toes off her trainers, tosses her jacket across the bannister and takes a good look at herself. She'd managed to dodge hospital policy and sneak away in her scrubs – stained with three different types of bodily fluid she’s not keen to give much thought.

She was way too old for this shit.

She tugs the tie from her hair and massages her sore scalp as she pads through the dim corridor.

There’s a note for her on top of the casserole dish sitting on the kitchen counter.

_School trip tomorrow. Sorry you had a long day. Love you._

Her heart drops.

She peels back the tin foil with a tired sigh, rubbing her eyes as the smell of cottage pie rises to greet her.

She’s so hungry she doesn’t remember that this will be the fourth time Niko’s made cottage pie this month; doesn’t remember that he’s been doing the majority of the cooking for some time now; doesn’t remember that it’s a solid fortnight since they’d spent any quality time together, primarily due to her brutal on-call schedule which, honestly, she’d done little to try and get out of.

She slides her phone from her pocket. Six missed calls and a message. She scrolls right past her notifications and goes straight for Deliveroo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know if any jargon isn't making sense!
> 
> Twitter @vracs1 for more.


	3. Chapter 3

//

“Here – see?”

Jess squints at the computer screen, at Eve's pointing finger. “Oh _. Shit_.”

Eve raises an eyebrow, watching her slump in the chair as it rolls her backwards.

“I should’ve spotted it.”

“It’s a hairline. Don’t beat yourself up about it,” she shrugs, zooming in on the x-ray to look at the fracture a little closer. “The radiology report isn’t up yet.”

“Here’s hoping they put a cast on the kid and send her on her merry way.”

Eve sticks her biro in her mouth and chews thoughtfully, flicking to the side-view images to make sure there’s no displacement of the bones, relieved to find them intact. She pulls the tie out of her hair and runs a tired hand through the curls. They tug, rough and uncombed against her fingers.

It had been another busy start. Hugo had been down on the rota for clerking the referrals, then running potential admissions by his seniors before the patients were transferred up to the ward.

Already this morning, she'd spotted him bee-lining towards A&E like a headless chicken, Mars bar hanging from his mouth as he'd struggled to jot down the numbers popping up on his bleep, arms full of patient notes. She'd almost felt bad.

She did _not_ miss the days of being a junior doctor, stretched thin between manning the wards, admissions and theatre, all whilst batting away demands from the bosses and scrounging time to maintain a satisfactory calorie intake. Needless to say, she can't ever remember struggling as much as him, nor can she recall having an ego quite as big.

She crosses out of the x-ray window and takes an indulgent, lingering sip of her lukewarm coffee.

When she turns back, Jess is staring across the nurses’ station and into bay three, riveted, hands splayed across her pregnant belly so she can comfortably watch things unfold.

Eve follows her line of vision.

“He will need a long line.”

Hugo’s leaning against the door frame, aiming for his best apathetic slouch as he tries to follow what he’s being told.

“A long line,” he says slowly, “like…through the nose?”

There’s an awkward moment of silence where Hugo's colleague stares at him like he’s grown a second head.

“A central cannula,” she tells him, “because his veins are shitty.”

Hugo nods, fiddling with the diaphragm of his stethoscope. “Okay. Cool. So…you can pop a normal cannula in for me in the meantime, yeah?” he grins.

“You have tried with the ultrasound?”

“The what?”

“You have tried to look for a deeper vein with the ultrasound, yes?”

Hugo scoffs. A dramatic eye roll. “Yeah. Of _course_. I’m not an idiot!”

Eve watches the doctor he’s talking to give a soft, displeased sigh. She hadn’t seen her before.

She’s young, despite speaking with an air of authority. When she talks, her consonants curl just like Konstantin’s and Eve has an absurd moment where she wonders if there’s a second daughter Konstantin had conveniently forgotten to tell her about.

“What do I get in return?”

Eve struggles to watch the next part: the part where Hugo combs a hand through his unruly hair and steps forward like a true douche-bag, his cockiest smoulder plastered across his face as he traces a finger over the woman’s ID badge.

“Whatever you want.”

Jess elbows her, hand over her mouth to stifle a snort. Eve can't quite believe what she's seeing. They watch the doctor’s face darken, gaze narrowing with what Eve would only describe as unadulterated fury.

"If you touch me again,” she growls, “I will put you in a coma and make it look like an accident. I _promise_. Okay?”

Hugo's eyebrows snap up, eyes wide and arms raised in a show of surrender as he backs away to find the portable ultrasound.

As it turns out, their septic patient in bay three had full-blown osteomyelitis. Hugo had asked what that was, and Eve had spent a good hour explaining it to him, praying that he at least remember it was a deep bone infection and that, in no uncertain terms, they were _fucked._

To make a true meal of things, Gerald was overweight and diabetic - that meant poor vascular access and a high likelihood of some bizarre bug needing weeks of intravenous antibiotics to zap. Hugo had been smart enough to call for backup, but clearly too stupid to recognise that he was dicing with work-place sexual harassment.

When he returns with the right equipment, it takes all of twenty minutes for the blonde doctor to disappear and then re-emerge from behind Mr Hughes’ curtain, seemingly successful. She stares at Hugo with disgust and boredom.

“Organise the PICC line. Interventional radiology will do it. Do I need to tell your consultant?”

“Nope!” he laughs awkwardly, “No, I’ll sort it.”

“Great. Do not page me again.”

Eve can't help but follow her movements, impressed, watching as she heads for the exit, then changes her mind and detours back to their station anyway. Her ponytail swings as she walks, posture straight but relaxed, hands in the pockets of her scrubs in that easy, casual way Eve used to embody before she became responsible for running one of the biggest departments in London.

She leans back in her seat, waiting to see what happens next. Their colleague wears trademark ACCS pink scrubs. Not very fitting, Eve thinks, if her prickly personality was anything to go by. And Balenciagas. Which was odd. Hilarious, but odd.

Eve looks up, trying for her friendliest smile in the hope that Hugo dodges getting reported to the Deanery. 

“Hello. Are you orthopaedics?”

Jess beams. Eve sees her eyes flash in amusement as she leans forward over her belly to take a closer look at the anaesthetist. “What gave us away?"

"You are not wearing stethoscopes," a shrug, "you must be the butchers." There's a small, smug smile there that Eve should find annoying, but it's ever so slightly soft around the edges and besides, they're only being teased, not attacked, so she lets it slide.

Jess bites though, her voice hardening. "And you are?”

“Here to tell you Gerald will need a PICC line. And that your SHO is probably a pervert.” As she addresses Jess, her eyes stay firm and interested on Eve.

Eve doesn’t mean for it to, but a loud, thrilled laugh bursts from her.

“Thank you for letting us know,” she nods, sobering. She quickly scans the doctor’s lanyard. Beside her ID photo, Eve manages to get a blurry flash of her complicated last name (not that her own's any better) and _Anaesthetics, ST4 Registrar_ below it. “Dr Astankova.”

A brief, confident nod.

“And thank you for the cannula,” Eve says. They watch each other. Eve feels the moment settle, heavy and languorous and silent, a pleasant semi-colon to the chaotic paragraph of her day. She finds herself shifting in her seat under curious eyes.

Jess coughs.

Dr Astankova taps her fingers against the desk in finality, tucking her badge into her pocket so it doesn't dangle, and Eve makes her own show of signifying the end to their meeting, snapping the tie from her wrist and scooping her hair back into a bun. The young woman gives her a careful, parting once-over, chin dipped, eyes flicking to Jess and then back to her.

"Wear it down."

Eve wants to say something quick and smart, something about getting shit and blood in her hair not really being top of her agenda, but Dr Astankova's already gone and she's left stumped in her chair, the tentative, reminiscent tone she'd been addressed with - so different to the one used on Hugo - echoing in her ears. 

She stares at the computer screen, Jess' bewildered whistle slicing through the air. 

"Who the _fuck_ was that?"

She pockets her pen and downs the rest of her coffee. "I have no idea."


	4. Chapter 4

//

The queue's winding down just as she reaches the cafeteria.

Niko had left a pastry out for her at breakfast, flask already full of steaming black coffee, a post-it on its lid to wish her an easy clinic.

Hastily scribbled notes had become their preferred method of communication now, though Niko often messaged her at lunch to check in or find out what she wanted for dinner. The doting made Eve feel smothered and annoyed, and then guilty for not doing the same, for not memorising the dates of his school trips or his day schedule just as thoroughly as he’d memorised her own.

She’d managed to drain her entire flask in Outpatients, whizzing through her list in no time, even as her head throbbed and her hands buzzed with that pleasant caffeinated feeling. Her feet didn't hurt though, the way they did after ward rounds, and she didn't feel tied up in knots with hunger.

Still, she’d looked forward to fish-and-chip-Friday. The fact that she’d even made it to lunch meant that today was looking up. She hoped it might set the weekend in good standing. After all, she had a date with Niko at his Bridge club – the first in a long time – and she wanted to be as stress-free and well-adjusted as possible.

“Eve!”

She hands money to the cashier and looks across the hall to find her lunch partner.

Bill sits on an empty table, waving her over with an easy smile.

She hurries to him, falling into the chair by his side and using all her weight to lean into him. He smells like old people and peppermint. She inhales greedily.

“ _Ugh_.”

“That bad?” he laughs, stealing a chip as he lays an arm across her shoulders. She wants so desperately to nuzzle into him, to do something brash and outrageous like suggest they flunk out for the afternoon and go to the pub, and then for dinner and dancing until one of them had to be carried home.

“You know they put twenty-two patients on my list?”

“ _Ooh_ ,” he pulls back to look at her, shoving another chip into his mouth as he considers her through narrowed, comically serious eyes. “Is that because you’re the big boss?”

Eve elbows him as she begins to pull apart her cod. “Kiss my ass,” she mumbles, taking only the best, crispy parts of the batter, then staring solemnly at the fish pieces which bored her and remained devoid of all flavour. “I need a holiday.”

Bill leans back in his chair, tucking his crumpled napkin into the empty packaging of his sandwich.

“Let’s go somewhere.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, then scoffs. “Yeah. Right.”

“I could whisk you away, what do you reckon?" he wiggles his eyebrows, "We could make Niko jealous. Rome? Paris? _Moscow_?” The idea pulls a grin across his face. “Now _there’s_ a thought.”

“I’m pretty sure they'd stone you there, right?”

Bill shrugs, “Maybe so. Might be for the best. I've had it.”

That grabs Eve’s attention. In all her years at the hospital, Bill had been a beacon of hope. The one doctor she knew of, who absolutely adored his job, who put his whole heart into it, who seldom complained, even when they drafted him to do three weekends in a row.

Something felt off and Eve was here for it.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” And then after a beat, “We didn’t get the funding for the Frailty Unit.”

Eve’s heart sinks. He’d been gunning for that for months. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Nobody gives a rat’s arse about Geriatrics. It’s not cool or glamorous or _sexy_ ,” he tells her, mentioning bitterly how the Anaesthetics department recently got a new ABG machine as well as a state-of-the-art simulation centre. They were haemorrhaging money. “They don’t call it the _departure lounge_ for nothing.”

Eve holds back the laugh that threatens to burble out. She’d never heard the Geriatrics wing called that before. It equal parts horrified and tickled her.

“How’s Elena?”

Bill brightens. He leans forward against the table. Eve catches on, rolling her eyes before nudging her plate towards him to give him better access to her chips. There was yet to come a day when they didn't have fingers in each other's pies, figuratively and otherwise.

“Good. She’s – fantastic, actually.”

“Yeah? I miss her.”

“She’s been doing research. Not much clinical time - patients are going crazy without her.”

Eve didn’t envy her. She had juniors to do that for her now – audits and presentations and publications, the red tape of surgery, as she liked to think of it. She did envy Bill though, for getting to see Elena more than her. The three of them hadn’t hung out in forever.

“We should do dinner soon. My reg is dying to meet you - ”

“Jess?”

“- yeah,” Eve gestures outward to her belly, “super pregnant, dry as they come and probably the best thing to ever happen to me. I think her and Elena would hit it off.”

Bill laughs. “Two peas in a pod then. When is she due?”

“Couple of months?” Eve makes a mental note to check. She had no idea what she was going to do once Jess went on mat leave. “And Keiko?”

“Christmas. It’s been,” he sighs, “a ride.”

She grunts, swallowing her last mouthful. The topic of children for her and Niko had been fleeting but amiable. Very early on, they’d both decided to focus all their energy on their respective careers and each other, though in recent years, Eve found herself spending more time away from home, throwing everything she had into running the department instead. In a way, it had been her child, of sorts, and she’d taken pride in watching it grow and flourish into a tertiary Trauma centre revered by consultants across the country.

“So maybe we run away to Moscow,” she stage-whispers, dropping her cutlery into her plate and reflexively wiping her hands on her suit trousers. She realises too late that she hadn’t worn scrubs today.

“You think I’m joking.”

“Nope. We could ask Konstantin where to get hammered.”

Bill frowns, arms folding across his chest. “Isn’t he a bit of a dickhead?”

Eve nods enthusiastically. Konstantin certainly had a reputation. He was known for being overly arrogant, dismissive of most, and outstanding at his job. If pressed, Eve would go so far as to consider him a very good friend and someone who'd saved her arse multiple times in theatre.

“You should meet him. You’d be surprised.” She remembers Konstantin’s registrar then, and the flash of pink, of blonde hair and quiet rage makes her fill with trepidation, makes her want to step outside and smoke. “Can’t say the same for his reg.”

Bill parks his chin in his hand, grimacing sympathetically.

“He a dickhead too?”

“ _She_.”

“ _Really._ ”

“She tore Hugo to pieces. She just kind of – waltzed onto our ward and – Hugo’s a loose cannon, so – I’m not justifying what she did but, Bill,” she lowers her voice, “I thought she was going to chop his knob off.”

He throws his hands into his lap and cackles, the sound reverberating through Eve and lighting her from the inside out. She can’t help but smile with him.

“I thought you were into that,” he teases, “no? What did you say to her?”

Eve flushes. She’d barely said anything at all. She’d wanted to say so much, to be assertive, to walk over and suggest a lesson in comm skills. Either that, or to get the fuck off her ward.

Instead -

“She helped us out. So, I said thank you.”

Bill clicks his tongue, humming thoughtfully. “Eve Polastri. Saying ‘thank you’. My, how you've _changed_.”

She slides her chair back, the screech of it against linoleum punctuating Bill’s indignance.

“I’m not a total bitch.”

“A bitch? No. A dragon?” he grins at her and gives a knowing wink. When Eve doesn’t say any more, Bill takes his rubbish off the table and stands. “I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

Eve follows. “You? Running into an anaesthetist? Fat chance.”

“Humour me, Eve. Maybe you can put in a good word for me.”

“I think the likelihood of her going full psycho trumps her ever listening to anything I’ve got to say - I don't even know her.”

Once they’ve put their leftovers in the bin and on the tray trolley respectively, Bill strides out into the corridor, turning to Eve before they part.

“Maybe she’ll listen to Konstantin," he suggests.

Eve considers it. She could yank a few strings. God knows intensive care never took any of Bill's elderly patients, even if they stood a good fighting chance. She straightens the lapel of Bill’s tweed jacket and taps his chest.

“Dinner. Or dancing. Or both,” she grins. “Soon. I’m planning on getting Jess and Konstantin round for dinner. You in?”

“As long as there's no knob-chopping,” he squeezes her hand, then gestures in the vague direction of his ward. Eve watches him walk off, throwing one last smile over his shoulder.

She calls out, “We won't invite her then," just as her bleep goes off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bank Holiday Monday to us Brits!
> 
> This is the the first and only hetero sex you lot are going to get - sorry to put you through it, but it seemed relevant to the plot later on!

//

On Saturday morning, she goes for a run.

She dodges Niko’s sleepy, yearning hands and hits the pavement before breakfast. The humid August rain sticks to her skin and she chooses to Tube to the Thames, taking the riverside path where the wind blows a little harder and there’s more to look at.

Southbank is empty of tourists – for now – allowing her time to really soak up her city. She jogs all the way from Lambeth to Tower Bridge, passing St Thomas’ and hopping across to St Paul’s to loop around a good ten-mile route.

She thinks of nothing. Just the feeling of feet hitting concrete, air sucking into her chest, sweat stinging her back. She doesn’t think of Niko or deadlines or who might be on-call this weekend, looking after her patients.

She gets breakfast from Borough market on her way back, lingering over it indulgently on the crowded Underground.

Niko’s still milling around in his pyjamas when she gets home. He grabs at her as soon as she’s through the door and she doesn’t have the heart to push him away, his stubble rough against her cheek and sweaty neck, where he kisses her, hands just on the wrong side of too-gentle and too-wanting even though she wreaks of sweat and aches for a shower.

The remainder of the day passes in a languid, crawling blur that makes the hours feel endless.

She spends most of it planning her dinner party while Niko finishes his morning crossword and then decides to fix the bulbs in the bathroom and utility. He’ll be away with his sixth-formers two weeks from now, so she picks then.

They’d never quite merged into each other’s lives outside of their marriage.

Eve found his friends too dull, too wholesome, if she could call it that, too _old_. Niko found hers too crude, too _much_ , too loud to get a word in edgeways.

She felt bad for him. Organising what little social life she had outside of work around his absences, however, had proven easier than she’d thought, not that she didn’t miss him, she _did._ In the way one might miss a houseplant or a good CD.

She dog-ears the page of her cookbook, then transfers the ingredients onto a shopping list while Niko showers.

Bridge club starts at seven.

She spends the first half by the bar. She makes small-talk with Iris, their eighty-four year old neighbour who often signed for their Amazon orders when Eve was on lates or Niko wasn’t home. She loiters on the outskirts of the crowd, watching Niko work the room, watching while she finishes her first gin, and then a second and another.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket.

Bill:

_Drinks?_

Me:

_I’m on my third._

Bill:

_Without me?!_

Me:

_Bridge._

Bill:

_Fuck me. Sneak out?_

Eve sends a coffin emoji followed by a bomb and a knife and gun and a dead smiley.

Bill:

_Guess who’s here?_

A few minutes later, Eve’s staring at a selfie of him and Elena with pints in their hands. They’re in Leicester Square, if the background is anything to go by. She feels a pang of jealously.

Me:

_Fuck you both._

Bill:

_Make up an emergency. Come out. We’re going to Heaven._

She gives it serious thought. The thought blossoms into a full-blown fantasy, of dancing with Bill and Elena in a crowd of sweaty, writhing bodies, feeling like she’s in her early twenties again as the speakers blast Cher and Tina and whatever hot flavour of the week had been chosen by the gays.

But Niko’s here. Niko’s having a nice night and she promised, she promised weeks ago when he’d asked her not to make other plans so they could be together, so she could _let her hair down for once_ and _quit being so gloomy all the time._

It'd made her want to yell at him, an irrational anger threatening to snap right out of her in a flurry of _we can’t all work nine-to-fives navigating the social intricacies of hormonal little pricks, then come home to make Shepherd’s pie for the third week in a row._

Niko sidles up to her, nudging her as he settles his beer on the counter. She pockets her phone.

“You alright?”

“Fine,” she gives a small nod. The gin in her hand sweats. She takes a gulp of it.

“Are you?”

She raises an eyebrow at him. His mouth is tight beneath his moustache, smiling but turned down at the corners and it makes Eve want to leave, to walk right out and grab an Uber across town just so she doesn’t have to look at it.

“Just tired.”

Niko sighs. “Okay.”

Maybe she was being heartless. He hadn’t done anything wrong, besides being too much of – well, himself, she supposes, staring down at her glass.

“Long week, that’s all,” she tries, but Niko’s no longer looking at her, face turned out towards the rest of the hall. She coughs awkwardly. “Brunch tomorrow?”

He shakes his head. It’s not a _no_ , it’s a disappointment that makes Eve shrink with guilt and something else, something that feels more permanent, like emptiness, or apathy.

“Eve.”

Her eyes snap up.

“If you don’t want to be here, then don’t,” he says softly, smoothing his hand over the bar.

“I _do_.” It comes out shrill and strained from the back of her throat.

Niko picks up his bottle, nodding to himself. She watches him peel the label right off.

“I’ll see you when I get home, okay?”

Without giving her time to reason, to defend herself with all the ways it’s good for her to stay, why this is good for them, why this is going to fix everything (except it won’t), he leaves, and it’s permission for her to do so as well, a _see you later_ that feels a lot like a _goodbye._

He comes home just after midnight.

She pretends to be asleep, back to the bedroom door so she can watch his shadow against the wall as he undresses, stumbles a little, groans when his foot snags the wrong thing.

The bed dips with his weight. She listens to his breathing, heavier and louder after a long night of drinking. She can already feel the stifling presence of his body heat as he moves, shuffling to get closer. She closes her eyes but the tension doesn’t leave, worsens in fact, as his arm comes across her waist.

“You’re awake,” he mumbles.

She doesn’t respond.

She feels the prickle of his moustache behind her ear, the soft kiss he leaves there.

“Eve.”

She tries again, to even her breathing, to relax her shoulders. Niko doesn’t buy any of it even in his semi-drunken state, and he rolls her onto her back, propping on an elbow to look down at her.

When she opens her eyes, she’s not met with resentment, though she knows she deserves it. She’s not met with anger or expectation.

Only with the face of a man who’s tired, who’s willing to fight for her, who loves her even if that comes with monotony and domesticity and the predictable cogwheel that their lives had become.

“I love you.”

The words feel stark in the bleak, quiet darkness of their room. It’s almost deafening.

Eve reaches up for him. She sinks her hands into his hair just so they have something to do. His mouth is wet when it meets her own, his kiss open and pressing, swallowing the words she can’t quite bring herself to say, the weight of him coarse as it settles against her.

She opens her legs for him. Feels him press perfunctory kisses against her face and her chest and then lower, over the hem of her pyjama bottoms and then inside, past the crest of her hips and between her thighs. She focuses on each sensation separately, willing her body to respond: the pressure of his hands on her waist, holding her close to him; the insistent slide of his tongue against her clit; the rough timbre of his voice from beneath the covers.

She moans. She stares at the ceiling and she moans, squeezing fists into his hair and making her hips lift, remembering to curl her toes and arch her back and sigh every now and then when he uses his lips.

She’s painfully aware of how far she is from any semblance of an orgasm, so firmly rooted in her own body and all the things it should be feeling. She tries picturing Niko naked. Tries picturing the parts of him she once loved so well. Tries closing her eyes and imagining herself bent over the kitchen counter or over the sofa or against the glass shower door, wishful fantasies that he'd seldom fulfilled.

None of this comes close to scratching the surface of what she needs, so she grabs at his shoulders and drags him up, letting him slip inside her, eyes glued to the neon red numbers of her alarm clock as he thrusts, wondering how long until she blinks and the minute digits change.


	6. Chapter 6

//

“So,” Konstantin says as he leans against her fridge, nursing a glass of whiskey. “Oksana.”

Eve shuts the oven with her foot to stop the smoke from billowing out. Her lamb, as predicted, was shot to shit. They were going to have to settle for Dominos and the Ottolenghi salads she’d chopped and prepared earlier, remarkably with all digits still in-tact.

“It’s Eve, not that it’s been a decade or anything,” she shrugs, grinning at him as he passes her a beer.

“No,” he lowers his voice, swirling the ice in his glass so it clinks, melodic against his husky laugh. “ _Oksana_ ,” he says again, as if by some miracle, Eve’s going to know who the hell he’s talking about.

She dips her chin and looks at him suggestively through her lashes. “A new lover?”

He chuckles again, setting his glass beside her stove. He was right. _Of course_ it couldn’t be a new lover. They all knew he and Prof Martens, Medical Director and head of Intensive Care, had some nauseating sexually-hateful hybrid of a relationship on the back burner. Whether that was to give Konstantin unlimited access to ICU for his patients, or whether there was some genuine interest there, Eve couldn’t be sure.

All she knew was that Kenny had told her his suspicions once, over Costa, and she hadn’t been able to look at Carolyn the same way since. Konstantin on the other hand, was Russian and a man, so naturally Eve held him to much lower standards of self-conduct.

“She told me she met you.”

Eve ponders this, flicking through her catalogue of exotic Polish, or was it Russian, names. She comes up blank, thinking only of _Anchorman_ and then biting back another sarcastic comment.

Konstantin runs a hand through his beard, considering her for a second.

“Astankova - my registrar. Blonde. Naughty.”

It dawns on her then. Her fingers tighten around her bottle and she takes a slow, careful sip, wondering if he might tell her more. He doesn’t, so she offers.

“Rude.”

“Yes,” he grins, helping to move the salad bowls through to the dining table. Elena and Jess already sit there, chatting about something else entirely while Bill phones for the pizza. Eve smiles at them both, pleased to see them getting on like a house on fire, then turns quickly back to Konstantin.

“You said you liked her.”

“Yes,” he shrugs good-naturedly, swigging his whiskey. “She is…funny. Intelligent.”

“She might need an attitude check.”

“Charming, no?”

Eve hadn’t quite decided. Dr Astankova had been abrupt, if anything, and though she’d bought them a few days to organise a long line for Mr Hughes, she’d treated a member of her team like shit.

Granted, it had been hilarious, however briefly, and then entirely unexpected when she’d stepped up to them with a cocky smile and clear, albeit mildly condescending instructions. Eve couldn’t forget the strange, bewildered way she’d felt when Oksana looked at her and then left.

She didn’t know what to think.

“Do all your registrars walk around like they’re God’s gift?” she steps around him, reaching into her fridge to bring out bottles of white, juice for Jess and various condiments. The way Konstantin looks at her is all unbridled amusement. She should feel irate, but it only makes her want to sit him down and pull as much information from him, if only to immunise herself.

“Most. I teach them.”

“Uh-huh. Oksana, then. Astankova.” The name sits heavy in her mouth. It sounds lighter, more playful coming out of Konstantin’s. “So - Tell me.”

Konstantin’s eyes sparkle. He knows she’s interested. He wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.

“Studied at Sorbonne.”

“Russian?”

“Moved as a child,” he adds helpfully.

Eve mulls this over. “Multi-lingual,” she concludes.

“Sure.”

“What else?”

“Suma cum laude,” he brags, a sense of pride straightening his shoulders. Eve shoves him.

“Not your doing. What else?”

“Orphan.”

Her head snaps up. She wants to say something softer, something sympathetic, but her worse instinct kicks in and she finishes her beer instead. “Chip on her shoulder?” she licks her lips.

“A little bit, yes,” Konstantin follows her round the counter as she pulls up a chair at the table, then motions for Bill to sit with them from his spot perusing her bookshelf.

They must give off their typical conspiring vibe because Bill picks up on this and flicks his eyes between them uneasily. “What’s going on?” He sits down beside Konstantin, tenser and sterner than usual. Eve wants to put her arms around them both and suggest they all get plastered in the hope they might become fast friends.

It would certainly make things easier.

“We are talking about Oksana. My new colleague.”

Eve shoves Bill under the table in warning. He doesn’t catch on.

“ _Ah._ Eve’s new interest.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Professional interest,” Bill glances at her, voice laced with an edge. Eve kicks him again.

Konstantin smiles his crooked, arrogant smile Eve had grown to love just a little, despite herself.

“She is an interesting one,” he concedes, undoing the top button of his white shirt, skin flushed from alcohol as he slinks back in his chair. His accent's already thicker. Eve has to lean closer to better understand him, even after years of knowing him. “She is ST4,” he explains, “but she is already like a senior colleague to me. I have not seen somebody put a central line so fast.”

Eve rolls her eyes. She grabs a slice of chicory, crunching through it as Elena catches her eye.

“Drama?”

Eve hums, motioning to Konstantin.

“He has a new reg who defies the laws of normal human decency.”

Elena laughs, looking to Jess for confirmation.

“A little, yeah,” she agrees and then, “I like her. She gives not a single fuck.”

“See? She needs a bit of – warming up,” Konstantin says carefully, “but she is excellent. She does the job. She is – different,” he drums his fingers against the table as all eyes settle on him. He chuckles again. “You will see.”

Eve side-eyes him dubiously, then points a playful finger at Jess.

“And you, lady. Whose side are you on?”

Jess grabs her glass of water, making a show of downing the entire thing so she doesn’t have to answer. Her eyes crinkle above the rim of her drink.

Eve scoffs, though not with malice.

“Hey,” Elena raises her hands. “Women supporting women, right? I’m sure she’s a dreamboat.”

The doorbell buzzes and Eve shoots up, leaving to meet the delivery guy. From the living room, she hears Bill’s voice as he asks Konstantin, “So, do either you or Oksana know any hole-in-the-walls in Moscow?”

She sighs with relief. Maybe there was hope for the two of them yet.

When she returns with the boxes, Konstantin has already poured Jess some orange juice and opened the wine. She watches him pour some for Elena and then Bill, patting him on the shoulder as they clink glasses.

“Can I take it you'll be a little more accepting of my referrals then?” Bill says, scooping up a couple of slices and passing them to Konstantin as a gesture of goodwill.

Konstantin takes a greedy bite, then settles in his chair to consider.

“From the departure lounge?” he teases. “Referrals go through the registrar. She comes to me. Then we decide.”

Eve gives Bill an apologetic smile, then pops a cherry tomato in her mouth, crunching before she says, “His bark is worse than his bite. Right, Vasiliev?”

“Yes. I have been told. But Oksana bites. Be careful with her.”

Bill looks at Eve pointedly. She decides to call him out on it.

“I don’t know what you’re looking at me like that for. I’ve been a senior consultant longer than she’s been alive.” (Slight exaggeration, though Eve can’t quite bring herself to care). “I’m sure as shit not about to let some obnoxious little asshole tell me how to run things.”

Konstantin lets out a loud, belly-deep laugh, smacking the table animatedly. He raises his glass, pleased when everyone follows suit.

“Very good. Nazdrovye!”

When they’ve toasted, Konstantin reaches for the salad, wiping his mouth as he says, “Eve, I hate to tell you. But I think you will be spending a lot of time together.”

Eve hears Elena mouth a soft, sympathetic _babe_ next to her.

She raises her eyebrows at him.

“I think we are together for your elective list next week. Our assessment clinic runs with yours on Fridays. You will become good friends. I am sure.”

Jess leans across her belly and pleads to do most of Eve’s clinic for her on days when Oksana was in, partly for the drama, and partly to see what Oksana might wear in her theatre-free time, because if the Balenciagas were anything to go by, Jess had found herself a new style icon.

Then Elena throws her a rope and suggests she scrap the entire thing and join her in the dark, lonely world of academia. She politely declines – for as much as she enjoyed being on the wards, teaching, she preferred to leave that minefield to Niko to navigate, alone.

“I can play nice,” she announces dryly, draining the rest of her glass.

Elena gives Bill a stifled look of amusement. “I live to see the day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll be MIA for 2 weeks travelling, but chapters 7-9 are done (pre-edit) so hopefully some Villaneve-heavy updates in quick succession on return!


	7. Chapter 7

//

Konstantin had been right.

She walks into the operating theatre on Tuesday morning to see his name written on the whiteboard beside the rest of the surgical team's.

She finds him in the induction room, observing as Oksana cannulates the first patient of the day, then helps him gather the right equipment for intubation. One of the nurses assists, fleeting in and out with her helping hands.

Eve greets them, placing a gentle, reassuring palm on the patient's shin.

“Good morning.”

“Eve,” Konstantin smiles from the head of the bed. Oksana looks over from her place by the ventilator, lingering just long enough for Eve to catch her eye beneath the seam of her scrub hat. She wears a similar one to Konstantin’s – he must have given it to her – except her ducks float in a sea of pink instead of blue, hair tucked neatly away.

They look a sight, the pair of them.

Eve would laugh if her patient wasn’t watching her so expectantly, reminding her that she had a pretty serious job to do.

She watches Oksana’s attention turn back to the machine, and can’t help the frown that pinches her forehead, frustrated that she hadn’t been given a response.

“How are you feeling Mr Adeboye?”

“Nervous,” he smiles. Since reviewing him in her pre-op clinic, Eve had really looked forward to replacing his hip. He’d been waiting for the better half of a year and the thought of helping him get back to hiking filled her with optimism.

“About which part, exactly?” she moves around the bed so she can crouch by his side and talk to him at eye-level.

“Not waking up.”

Eve hums, glancing up at Konstantin. She reaches for Mr Adeboye’s hand.

“You have the best anaesthetist in the hospital. You’re in very good hands. Dr Vasiliev will be here when you wake up to make sure you’re not in too much pain and that your nausea’s under control. How does that sound?”

Her patient nods, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“We are a team today,” Konstantin adds. “I have back-up,” he motions to Oksana who nods politely, waving the syringe of white Propofol in her hand. “Everything will be fine. Promise.”

Eve rises, satisfied that things were under control. “I’ll see you in there,” she smiles, stepping back inside to scrub up with Jess. As she washes her hands, she thinks about Oksana, about what she might ask her during the operating list, if they even talked at all.

The first surgery goes off without a hitch. Between patients, Eve checks in with Jess, making sure she’s not too dizzy, too hot, too sore on her feet or in her back.

Jess takes it all in her stride like a champ, despite carrying several kilos of extra weight, and they banter back and forth with Konstantin to pass the time as he teases Eve about her cooking and then about the fact that he’d managed to out-drink her, yet again.

During moments of quiet, he hums along to Magic FM: hit after hit of eighties classics Eve had learned to associate with their days spent together. She makes eyes at him across the operating table and he sings louder just to annoy her, tapping his pen against his Sudoku.

Oksana sits at his side. She glows beneath the stark theatre lights.

Eve feels eyes on her from time to time, but does her best not to pay them much heed.

They’re hazel.

She’d realised this the moment they'd met, and then again in the induction room. Hazel and alert, wide, distant but direct, always direct, though it seemed, not when Eve wanted them to be.

She’s surprised when Oksana starts to hum softly beneath Konstantin’s tenor as she looks over his puzzle and helps him finish it in half the time it would normally take.

There’s a sense of warm familiarity in the way they interact. Had she not known any better, Eve would’ve taken Oksana for one of Konstantin’s long-lost nieces. She watches them through her visor, the way Oksana pokes playfully at the mountainous presence of him, how he teases her in turn, firing questions at her about complex physiology which she answers with ease.

She’s soft with him. She lets him talk at her over the pages of her textbook, even laughs when he cracks jokes or starts telling her about his own registrar years, studying for his exams. Eve half-listens, putting most of her attention into supervising Jess and lending a hand without being prompted.

On their third patient, Konstantin gets called away to attend an emergency. It’s the last one before lunch, so she gives Jess a breather and takes her place.

“Bed down please,” she calls, looking over to Oksana expectantly. The instruction comes out harsher than she intends. She doesn’t miss Jess’ tentative glance.

Oksana’s eyes flick to her. She presses the peddle so the bed lowers to meet her height requirements.

Eve blinks at her. “Up a bit.”

The bed goes up.

“A little more.”

Oksana sighs this time but does as she’s told.

“Enough. Thank you.”

There’s a groan, soft but there, and Eve grinds her teeth in self-restraint, then finally snaps.

“Is there a problem?”

Oksana shuts her textbook. She looks languidly up to meet Eve’s fuming gaze.

For a moment, Eve feels a flash of guilt. Barking at her juniors wasn’t usually her style – very early on, she’d realised that people learned best under minimal pressure and maximum encouragement. Then again, Oksana wasn’t hers.

“No problem,” she shrugs, glancing at the clock, disinterested.

Eve feels her visor fog up as her breath quickens. She’s fully scrubbed, which means she can’t go over to Oksana, but she’s dying to, dying to set some boundaries so they can start as she means for the rest of the year to go on.

“Are we boring you?”

Oksana looks at her. Her mouth twitches as she slides down a little in her chair like a scorned child, pouting to see what Eve might do. Eve does nothing, so she schools her face into one of stony indifference, a smirk climbing its way into the corners. “A little, sure.”

There’s an awkward screech of wheels against floor as Jess swivels to look at them from her resting spot at the far corner, where she’d been documenting post-op notes.

The theatre technician’s forceps drop with a clang.

“Excuse me?”

“Since you ask, Eve - ”

“Ms Polastri,” Eve bites.

“- if you can teach your registrar to stitch faster, next time we will eat lunch before the cafeteria closes,” Oksana continues, looking at Jess who scoffs, wrapping protective arms around her stomach.

“I am seven months _pregnant_ -”

“Oksana, you will learn to address your seniors with respect,” Eve’s words drown out Jess’, “or so help me God, I will send you straight back to Paris myself, do I make myself clear? We are not paid enough to deal with your bullshit.”

She hopes at least some of what she says sinks in and makes Oksana reconsider.

Instead, Oksana’s eyes glimmer mischievously as she rocks back on the hind legs of her chair, thoroughly entertained by the fact that Eve had clearly bothered to find out about her.

“You are so pleased with yourself,” she says so softly, Eve practically hears the blood curdle inside her.

She can overlook arrogance. She’d seen her fair share of obnoxious doctors, toying with the boundaries of patient safety. But to be humiliated? In a flash of anger, she visualises stripping off her sterile gear and taking her best aim at Oksana with one of the steel retractors.

“Show yourself out."

Oksana doesn't move to go, so Eve steps back from the patient's bedside and shoves her finger at the fire exit doors. "Get the hell out of my theatre,” she yells, watching as Oksana hums, picking up her things and giving the ventilator and monitors a once-over before heading towards the exit doors.

“I will call Konstantin. He will come to help you.”

The doors slam shut, and Eve sucks her lips into her mouth angrily, staring down at her bloodied, trembling hands and the gaping wound beneath them.

She can’t quite decide what’s worse: the fact that an intra-operative patient had just been left entirely unsupervised, or that she’d allowed herself to lose her temper over a doctor who was neither part of her team, nor her responsibility.

She hears Konstantin come in not long after, amidst affirmations from the entire theatre that Oksana had in fact, been a _disrespectful little brat,_ as Jess had so delicately put it.

He smiles at her, setting his coffee on the desk so he can properly check the patient’s internal pressures and urine output. Satisfied, he gives a quick thumbs-up and casually turns to the next page of his Sudoku.

Eve coughs. “What did she say?”

“I tried to talk to her but - ” he winces, shaking his head, “she said she is having quite a heavy period and – you know,” he gestures vaguely with his hand.

Eve finishes up the suturing as fast as she can, tossing the needle and holder into an empty kidney dish.

“You’re too soft with her.”

“She is soft with me,” he points out, much to her frustration.

“Not quite as soft with me,” she says once she’s out of her gloves and theatre gown. “You need to talk to her, alright? Or I will. You're her boss, Konstantin. She can pull that shit with you, but that’s not how we do things around here.”

Konstantin squints at her thoughtfully. He puts his big, heavy hand to her shoulder, holding her there, then moves to pat her cheek.

“Okay. I will see what I can do.”


	8. Chapter 8

//

Eve looks at the screen of Hugo’s phone, to the picture he’s showing her and then to the top right corner to check the time, because they're in the middle of clinic and he’s been telling her the same story for the past ten minutes.

“See? Told you I’d go.”

She hums. In the picture, Hugo wears a hideous revere-collared floral shirt and small, round glasses she’s never seen him wear on the ward. His right arm's around Mrs Allsopp’s shoulders and his left around her much younger, blonder counterpart Eve assumes is her granddaughter.

She gently pushes his hand away and turns back to look at the x-ray of her next patient. As she analyses the images, she sees Hugo lean over her desk and grin at her.

“In case you’re wondering – she’s doing great. Walking, and everything,” he raps the desk, tucking his hands into the pockets of his chinos. “Turns out she’s a bit naughty at poker.”

“Hugo?”

“Yeah.”

“Do me a favour?”

“Sure,” he smiles. He takes out his biro, ready to write whatever instruction he’s about to be given.

“Go back to your room and finish the pre-op list, alright? Do you know what you’re doing?”

Hugo nods, brushing his hands together, “Piece of cake. Listen to the chest, feel the stomach, check the ECG, request some bloods,” he tips his head from side to side, listing off like a nursery rhyme, everything each patient needed.

“And?”

“Clotting, and Group and Save. Always Group and Save.”

Eve turns to him, baffled. For once, he had it all. He’d listed everything.

“I’ll go through the x-rays. The ECGs – if they look weird,” she frowns, “don’t come to me. Dr Astankova’s next door, run it by anaesthetics.”

Hugo gives her a wilting look. It mirrors exactly how Eve feels at the prospect of being in Outpatients alongside anyone bar Konstantin.

In fairness, Konstantin usually assessed the most complex patients – ones who needed surgery but would prove difficult intra-operatively, whether due to multiple co-morbidities or previous problems with intubation.

Still, she wished he was there this morning instead of some conference in Budapest.

“Be nice. We’re a team.”

“You saw what she did to me…right?” he says flatly, jerking his thumb in the general direction of Oksana’s room.

Eve laughs. “You need to get your cannulation skills up.”

He rolls his eyes with as much flare as possible, then slinks off to find his own room and leave Eve in peace.

She works her way through a once-again overbooked clinic, catching only intermittent snippets of conversation from the adjacent room, and then a longer one when Hugo struggles to interpret an ECG properly.

“Show it to Eve.”

“She’s a surgeon, not a cardiologist.”

After a few moments, “It is LVH.” Oksana proceeds to explain to him what that means and then to ask if the patient is symptomatic at all. The chat goes on long enough for Eve to get antsy about calling her next patient in, when -

“Do you think she is still mad at me?”

Eve’s stomach drops. Word of the theatre debacle had spread like wildfire in a matter of days. It was no wonder then, that Hugo had already caught up with it following his return from a stint of night shifts.

She doesn’t hear Hugo’s mumbled reply, nor the response he’s given. Oksana’s question had been genuine, from what she could tell. Something in it had wavered. She wonders if it was all an act.

She clicks to the next x-ray and rolls up the sleeves of her shirt, ready to call her last patient in.

There’s a knock on her door.

“Yeah.”

Hugo’s head pops round.

Eve looks at him expectantly.

“It’s a no-go for Mrs Rivers. Left ventricular hypertrophy on the ol’ ECG,” he says as he leans back against her desk again, hand on his cocked hip.

Eve forces herself to overlook his smugness under the pretence that she hadn’t just overheard most of what they’d said.

“Dr Astankova wants an ECHO.”

“What?”

“To assess the LV function.”

Eve knew Mrs Rivers. Her surgery was scheduled in just a week and she absolutely did not exhibit any signs of heart failure.

“Tell her there’s no need. I'm pretty sure Rivers could run a marathon.”

Hugo lingers uneasily by the door. “I think she might hurt me.”

 _Probably_ , Eve thinks. “Tell her anyway. If she's got a problem, she'll come and discuss it.”

Just before lunch, Oksana does come.

She doesn’t knock, just strides into Eve’s room and waits for her to finish up writing in the notes. Eve deliberately takes her time, double-checking her awful spelling (she hadn’t the tidiest of handwritings but then, which surgeon did?), then taking forever to log off the imaging system and tidy her desk.

When she’s done, she finally turns to Oksana.

“We don’t need the ECHO.”

Oksana pretends to consider this, rolling the tip of her tongue along the inside of her cheek, hands folded across her chest. She wears her own clothes today – a silk off-white Isabel Marant blouse and burgundy Ralph Lauren trousers that end just above the polished line of her leather brogues.

Eve briefly takes it all in, lingering only on Oksana’s face, the challenge written there.

“I think we do, Eve. We do not know the cardiac function. Maybe she has got a murmur. If something goes wrong during the operation - ”

“It wouldn’t,” Eve says confidently.

“- and she needs ionotropic support after,” Oksana continues, “it is a good idea to know her ejection fraction first. Okay?”

There is some truth in what Oksana says, but she says it in such a frustratingly righteous way, Eve grows more disgruntled. She really just wants to finish up here as quickly as possible and get back to the wards.

“Her operation is next week.”

Oksana’s eyes light up. “Very good,” she nods, pleased, “so Hugo will have a lot of time to organise the scan,” she says sarcastically.

Eve knew very well the never-ending battle of trying to get anything done last-minute. More likely than not, Mrs Rivers’ operation would have to be rescheduled for several months down the line, all based on a technicality. She tucks her chair into the desk and steps up to Oksana.

“Are you always this disruptive? Or just with me."

She watches Oksana’s brow arch, the stud of her earring glimmering, her eyes doing the same when they widen with mock innocence.

“I am just being careful. You know, Eve,” her voice turns dark, low, “it is not good to take shortcuts. Soon, somebody will get hurt and the lawyers will ask us, where is the ECHO?”

Eve seethes. In her two decades of experience, there had yet to come a time when one of her elective patients needed significant post-op support. There had yet to come a time when she missed something.

She was careful. Meticulous. She just knew enough – certainly more than a twenty-something year old _kid_ – to recognise that good medical practice meant treating the patient, and not an isolated result.

Being bullheaded would get her nowhere though, Eve recognised that. Oksana clearly wasn't going to let up.

“We’ll have the scan by the end of the week,” she accepts, pocketing her pen and mobile phone as she side-steps Oksana with as much authority and dismissal as she can muster, given that she’d just lost an argument.

It absolutely ruins her then, several days later, when she’s staring at the ECHO report in her lap. Oksana’s staring at her, and poor Konstantin’s staring at them both, clearly uncomfortable but too polite to say.

“It is not a problem,” Oksana gestures to the summary of the results. Unfortunately for Eve, the ultrasound of the heart had indeed found a murmur - a negligible one that wouldn’t derail the surgery, but certainly needed follow-up from Mrs Rivers’ GP. Oksana had been right. Partially. But so had Eve. “The heart function is good enough.”

Eve drops the sheet of paper on the coffee table and stares at Konstantin.

He shrugs. “She is right. But it is good that we picked it up. You can normally hear the murmur, no?”

Oksana nods.

 _Of course you can hear a bloody murmur_ , Eve fumes. The point was, either Hugo's juvenile indie music had finally turned him deaf, or he hadn’t bothered to listen to the heart in the first place.

“I have to get back to the ward,” she grits out, grabbing the report and turning to leave, fully intent on chasing Hugo down so he could explain to her exactly how he'd managed to screw up yet again.

She scoops up her suit jacket. She expects Konstantin to go after her or to say something, at least, to fight her corner, but the only thing she hears is the sound of Oksana shouting, “You are welcome, Eve!” and the sharp bang as she slams the door on her way out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else remember Mr Greco getting murdered with a hair pin? Turns out he's a dick in every universe.

//

She gives Jess an ear-full during ward round.

As they move from bed to bed, Eve talks at her between patients, using a hushed, tense voice that rises slowly the more Jess questions her about it.

She tries not to work herself up. She’d been stewing over it long enough, the last thing she wanted was a pregnant woman bearing the brunt.

When they finally reach the last side-room on their list, Jess slumps against the portable computer unit to consider the situation they’ve been faced with.

“So, she’s a prick. We knew that.”

Eve shakes her head. “She was right. She was smug as shit,” she points out, clicking and unclicking the tip of her biro, “but she was right.”

"But so were you," Jess tries. It brings little comfort.

In miserable silence, they turn their attention to Hugo. They watch as he takes blood from Mr Hughes’ PICC line, cleaning and flushing it the way Jess had taught him. He looks up for reassurance and Jess sighs, giving a half-hearted thumbs up.

“Eve,” she whispers. Eve finishes typing in the notes quickly and looks up, taken back by the sincerity Jess wears, the sympathy. “She can be right all she wants. It doesn’t mean she gets to treat the rest of us like shit. She’s ST4. Fuck me, _I’m_ more senior than she is. ”

“Consultant,” Eve reminds gently, looking affectionately to her stomach, “almost.”

Jess looks with her. She leans a little closer. Places a light hand on Eve’s forearm.

“You deserve to be treated with respect.”

Eve’s entirely unconcerned with the ethics of it. She’s just pissed - with Oksana’s attitude, with her callousness, her unpredictability. Mostly, with the fact that she seemed to have nothing constructive to say to anyone bar Konstantin.

“It’s not that,” she rests her elbow on the computer unit, “I don’t want her bringing down team morale. Hugo, you…I’m supposed to be looking after you.”

Jess laughs. Again, she glances to Hugo.

He's moved quite happily onto chatting to Mr Hughes about yesterday’s rugby match. Today marked his seventh week on the ward, and there was no sign of the infection slowing down. It was only a matter of time before he found himself back on the operating table.

“What are you trying to say, babe? Are we looking raggedy, or? Because - you know – I’m carrying,” she frowns, cupping her stomach to remind herself, “a butternut squash, apparently, and we can’t all afford Balenciagas so…”

Eve rolls her eyes dramatically, scoffing. She tells Jess that she glows. She’d been glowing since she made Eve order her sauerkraut on jacket potato that time in the cafeteria. She wears pregnancy so beautifully, it would’ve been good enough reason for Eve to try it for herself, were she a little younger.

And Hugo – well.

She calls out for him to finish so they can reconvene at the nurses’ station and divvy up the ward jobs before lunch.

Hugo’s barely taken out his pen when Eve hears it – fluent Italian from the bay next to them. She’d only ever heard it on days when their nurse Laura was on shift. This time it comes in low, gravelly tones, the words curving out harsher, less melodious than Eve’s used to.

She recognises it straight away.

Oksana sits in her usual pink scrubs, hair tied in a low-lying bun Eve knows will be tucked up later in theatre. She’s in the chair beside Mr Greco, their wealthy gentleman from Tuscany whom Eve disliked for his smarmy flirting and possible connection to some mafia ring.

Oksana is sharp and apathetic with him as she fills the form in her lap.

Eve’s secretly glad for it, glad to see Oksana doing them both a favour, so to speak - smashing down the patriarchy one entitled man at a time - before she feels something hot and tight curl inside her at the sight of Oksana’s foot swinging over her crossed legs – obnoxious, new multicoloured trainers with thick, shiny straps running across them.

“You know what? Why don’t you go grab coffee,” she gestures to Jess. “Take Hugo with you. I’ll catch you up in Costa.”

Jess nods slowly, eyes darting to just beyond Eve’s shoulder, then back to her.

“ _Jess_ ,” she drags her name out in warning, “an Americano, same as always. Alright?”

Jess concedes, mouthing _text me_ , then nodding in Oksana’s general direction before slicing her index finger across her throat.

Eve laughs.

When they leave, she looks for Kenny in the medication room where he’s getting ready for lunch-time drug rounds.

“What's Dr Astankova doing here?”

He jumps when he hears her, spinning around with his apron half-on.

“Hi, Eve. Er,” he shakes his head, “consenting, I think?”

“Not Dr Vasiliev?”

“I think he’s not here today? Or maybe um – I don’t know, not here?” he tries again.

It dawns on Eve then, that Kenny looks haggard. She takes his tray off him so he can put some gloves on. “How are you?”

“Good,” he smiles. “Tired. But good.”

“How’s your mom?”

He fumbles with the remaining glove, ripping it accidentally in half. “Mum’s good. Fine. Running the ship,” he gestures vaguely around him.

“With an iron fist,” Eve suggests, relieved when he laughs. “Listen -”

“Yeah?”

“We should - ” she shrugs. She missed seeing him. She missed going to their house for Sunday roasts, missed hearing about his life and the wards. His mother had been the sole instigator in securing her a consultancy post - she figured another dinner was long overdue.

“We should,” he helps her out, nodding.

She promises to arrange a date, then gives him an awkward goodbye as she heads back to the nursing bay. Her belongings are still there, all of which she hadn't even realised she'd left.

Oksana leans against the desk, finishing her consent form.

Eve swallows. She smooths down her blue button-down and reaches for the iPhone beside Oksana’s hand.

“Eve.”

She pockets it. Her jaw twitches. She watches Oksana drop her pen and straighten up to look at her.

“You are here,” she says carefully, and then, “How are you?”

Eve gives the form a once-over, avoiding Oksana’s gaze. “Are you done with Mr Greco?”

Oksana hums. She waits, expectant, then looks up to the ceiling dramatically and back at Eve, amused. “I am well, thank you for asking Eve, it is nice to see you too,” she sing-songs, then gives her a genuine, delighted smile.

Eve stiffens. “Are you serious?”

“I was looking for you – after…” she bobs her head, “you know.”

“Why?”

“You seemed upset. I wanted - ”

“Upset,” Eve says slowly. She hadn’t been upset. Irritated, yes. Insulted, absolutely. Disappointed, sure, with Konstantin mostly, but also with the fact that Oksana had undermined her intelligence and somehow still managed to be right. Partly.

But not upset.

“Okay,” Oksana says softly, “angry. Or – I don’t know,” she frowns.

Eve steps carefully away from her.

“Eve,” she says, softer this time, as if it might bridge the crawling distance between them. “I was just looking out for you.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” Eve snaps, shoving her hands into the pockets of her trousers. She squeezes her phone, its battery burning against her sweaty palm.

Oksana licks her mouth carefully. She raises an eyebrow, pushing off the desk and moving closer, slowly, seriously. Eve wonders, for a brief, indulgent moment if this might break into a fight. When it doesn’t, when Oksana doesn’t say anything, just looks at her in that curious, relaxed way, Eve clears her throat and tilts her chin up.

“Are you going to apologise to me?”

“No. Are you?”

Eve purses her lips together. “No.”

Oksana gives a brief, disappointed nod. “That is good to know,” she bites her lip, “You know – I was only trying to help you. And you are being very rude to me.”

 _How fitting_ , Eve seethes. She feels her heart palpitate with anxious energy and she clenches her jaw, keeping her voice barely restrained as she says, “And you are always such a disrespectful little asshole. You’re an asshole, Oksana,” she spits out.

Oksana's eyes darken, lips twitching silently. Eve watches as she turns on her heel, swiping the consent form on her way past the ward receptionist.

The plump woman behind the computer stares after her, and then at Eve, dumbfounded.

Eve groans, dropping her arms by her side.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, grateful when her remaining things are slid carefully across the desk to her - her wallet, ID badge, list of patients.

She’s dying for that coffee.

Niko asks about her day when she gets home.

He greets her with a kilo of curry, extra lime pickle just the way she likes, and a beer, which she polishes off as soon as she’s sat down. She feels him watching her, worried, even as he passes over her share of the food.

“Tough day?”

Eve piles up her plate tiredly, nodding.

For once, she’s going to be honest with him – she’d decided it on the Underground home. She’s going to be honest and she’s going to tell him exactly how horrendous her entire week had been, how horrendous _she’d_ been, because she’s desperate to hear it from him - to know that he sees her and knows her completely, God complex and bouts of fury be damned.

She’s going to let him be the final person to confirm what a dickhead she’d been – yelling at her brand-new colleague, storming off on Konstantin, threatening to fail Hugo at his end of placement review.

Except when she tells him, slumped against his chest on the sofa, plate cradled in her lap, Niko says none of it.

She feels his arms around her, chin on top of her head as they stare at the TV and not at each other.

“You’re a good person, Eve. The best I know. And you care, very much. Sometimes that wears a person down. But it’s why I love you – you put others before yourself, you always have. If that makes you an asshole, then there’s no hope in hell for the rest of us.”

And as Eve sits, the vibrations of his voice rumbling low against her back, she recognises that they’re not the right words at all, that he doesn’t get her at all. Not even a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draft edits messed with chapter numbering - we're still only on ch10 :)

//

She sits in the back row of the lecture theatre, Jess and Elena on either side. The hall is full for the weekly lunch-time grand rounds – a meeting of doctors from all over the hospital, ready to share important research and audit work. And free lunch usually thrown in, which for Eve was incentive enough to attend, if her paper plate of six complementary finger sandwiches was anything to go by.

Fortunately, it’s Bill this week. They listen to him talk about falls risk in the elderly – something Eve had been interested in and admittedly knew little about, despite looking after a mostly aging population.

He looks incredible on the stage. Elena seems to think so as well. They watch proudly as he flicks through his slides, touching his brown tie on occasion, and then humbly addressing questions from the audience.

“In summary, it’s of the upmost importance we continue to utilise our outreach team on orthopaedic and other surgical wards to ensure falls risk is kept to a minimum.”

When the loud applause (and whoops of cheer from Eve and her colleagues) dies down, Bill motions for the next speaker to come up.

Something in Eve sinks, low and heavy, when she sees Konstantin and Oksana take up the podium.

Konstantin wears his trademark white collar shirt and grey trousers. Oksana wears the same. They would match perfectly if it weren’t for her black pin-stripe jacket, the way its lapel catches behind the strap of her wrist watch as she sinks her hands into her pockets.

Eve sees Jess fidget in the corner of her vision.

“She looks good,” Jess whispers, and then almost instantly, “but we still hate her.”

She’s about to come up with a clever quip, when she feels Elena squeeze her hand.

“Is that her?”

She hums. 

Elena’s eyes sparkle. She clicks her tongue. “She’s fit,” she says, catching Jess’ warning glare, “if you’re into…” she tries and then gives up entirely, “tall, smart and fit as fuck.”

Eve slumps in her chair. Oksana commands the stage easily, confident but laid-back, waiting whilst Konstantin does most of the talking, and then helping discuss the results of their latest audit. It’s something too technical for Eve to understand and she doesn't much care for ICU-related dialysis data.

So, she spends the following thirty minutes looking but not really listening. She looks at Oksana and tries to figure her out. She looks and she wonders what hides beneath all that bravado.

She’d only caught glimpses of it – of a rippling gentleness that stilled each time she looked too long. She’d seen it directed towards Konstantin, sees it now, as he says something and Oksana laughs, and so does the rest of the crowd.

She cranes her neck a little. In the front row, she sees Carolyn.

Eve knows she must have assigned the project to them both for the benefit of the department. She looks pleased, beaming as Konstantin flatters her indirectly, thanking her for the added funding, the opportunity.

Oksana looks on. She seems obedient, restrained under Carolyn’s focussed gaze.

Eve stretches in her chair, knocking her knee into Jess’.

“I know,” Jess hisses, “Think she’d give us funding if I offered to go down on her like that?”

She smacks her, stifling her snort behind pursed lips. “She'd give them fuck all if she knew the shit Oksana pulls.”

The meeting eats into the afternoon. It means Jess has to dash off to clinic for the remainder of the day so Eve can hit the wards. Bill snags her on the way out. Before he can even suggest it, Eve grins, pulling him in for a swift, tight hug. “I’m buying tonight.”

She does.

They’re on their second round when Bill sets his glass down beside his hat and leans back in his chair. He looks at Eve in his usual way – the way that tells her: there’s something you’re not telling me and I’m going to get it out of you.

Eve gulps down the rest of her beer. She hadn’t eaten since lunch and it works quickly to sate her and leave her a little buzzed, relaxed enough for whatever interrogation Bill had planned for her.

Bill smiles. “How’s Niko?”

She hadn’t expected that. She sighs, scraping a hand through her hair. “Good. Yeah.”

“How are things at home?”

Eve looks over the top of Bill’s head towards the bar. She’s going to need another drink. Or five. 

“Good.”

“Well don’t tell me all at once!” he laughs. He lowers his voice, stretching a hand across the table to brush over her wrist. When she flinches, he grabs onto her. “Eve.”

“Yes?”

“How long have we known each other?”

Eve smirks. She can play this game. “Too long.”

“Indeed. Don’t bullshit me.”

She hardly knows where to begin. She doesn’t have to though, when Bill taps her knuckles gently, then leaves to get them more drinks. As soon as there’s another pint in her hand, he asks her outright.

“Are you having sex?”

“Fuck off.”

“Is that a no then?”

“We’ve been married for fifteen years.”

“So, it’s a no,” he laughs.

Eve caves. She tells him that the last couple of years had felt like walking through a fog, that she’d dissociated from her personal life entirely, that work had been the only grounding, the only time she’d felt present or excited or needed.

She tells him that coming home had slowly begun to bleed from pleasure into obligation, to bleed her dry, that she looked forward to nights out with him and the girls more than anything, that on-calls had become her saving grace.

He stares at her, unblinking. “Jesus Christ.”

She sinks the rest of her glass. “Yeah.”

Bill pulls his chair around the table to sit beside her. When he wraps an arm over her shoulders, she turns her face into his neck and sighs. She feels his mouth press to the crown of her head as he tells her gently, “People grow. It never stops! I’ve watched you do it for twenty years,” he laughs, “lucky for us, we’ve grown in the same direction, but…it doesn’t always happen. And that comes with big changes – ones we don’t see until we wake up one morning and don’t recognise ourselves. It hurts like hell, it does - for a little bit, and then - ” he sighs, “It hurts a bit less.”

Eve sniffs, quickly and softly, pushing her thumbs into her eyes before they start to sting.

Bill’s fingers sink into her hair. They pull a watery smile from her. She’s going to get tears on his shirt if she’s not careful, and she’s most definitely not a crier.

“Bill?”

“Yes, my love.”

She pushes away from him carefully, lifting her head to look him in the eye. “You were fantastic today.”

He frowns. “I’m always fantastic.”

“Wise -”

“Of course.”

“Humble -”

“Naturally.”

Eve feels that pulsing ache loosen in her chest, draining away with a twitch of Bill’s bushy brows, the slant of his smile.

“You’re going to be a great father.”

He sits back, crossing his ankles under the table, fingers linked across his belly as he smiles at her kindly.

“Do you think you and Jess are going to go on those baby play-dates or…?” The image fills Eve with joy. She couldn’t wait to co-ordinate it all – they’d already both asked her to be godmother and she looked forward to it more than anything.

Bill smirks. “ _No_. And what about your kid? He behaving himself?”

Hugo was a rare breed of person who hadn’t shown ‘growth’, at least not yet anyway. He was still the same, erratic, airheaded, sweet-talker Eve had met some two months ago. She tells Bill so, warns him that Hugo’s due to rotate onto Geriatrics come February and Bill will have the joy of finding it all out for himself.

“And how about Oksana?”

There’s that tone again – quiet and knowing, the way it had been at her dinner party.

She feigns disinterest, staring into the murky glass of her empty pint. She feels Bill’s eyes search her face. Her skin burns.

“What do we think of her?”

“A lot of other things to think about.”

Bill nods slowly. He taps lightly on her drink. “But do you think about her?”

“No,” she says around a swallow. Her voice wavers, cracking at the end and Bill catches it, catches every detail of her because he’s her best friend, and God, if he didn’t know her better than anyone else.

He clears his throat and starts, calmly, “Maybe a little?” prodding her, “I certainly do. Jess told me about what happened in theatre. And pre-op. I think she’s got balls,” he makes a crude gesture and Eve slaps his hand away. “I think she’s attractive -”

“Irrelevant.”

“Eve, I’m gay, not blind. I think,” he drawls, “it’s about time someone challenged you, hmm?” he elbows her in the ribs, keeps doing it until Eve groans. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Of course, she didn’t mind being challenged, she was challenged every single day of her life – that was the beauty of the job.

There was a difference though, she gently points out, between being challenged and being undermined.

Bill pats her hand. “You know what they say, Eve,” he reaches for his hat, “the only thing between love and hate is that fine, old line. And it never likes to stick in one place for very long.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the amazing feedback - I'm so glad so many people are enjoying this.  
> Come tweet me @vracs1


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust me, the slow burn hurts me just as much as it hurts you, probs.  
> Thanks for tuning in and happy International Mental Health day!

//

The bleep wakes her at four in the morning – not that she was asleep, not really, constantly stuck in that perpetual state of fight-or-flight that seemed to plague her every on-call. She rolls out of bed, slipping her feet into her clogs before fishing her mobile from her scrub pocket.

“Polastri.”

“I’m really sorry to wake you,” she hears Hugo say. He sounds tired, and something else, something worse. Something that makes Eve straighten up.

“What’s going on?”

He hesitates. Eve’s already half-way across the on-call room, pocketing her pen and various knick-knacks as he tells her that she really needs to come take a look at Mr Hughes - his kidneys had gone off and his infection markers had started to climb again.

When she gets to the ward, Kenny’s connecting another bag of fluids to the PICC line and Hugo’s wilting by the bedside, more ashen than the patient, his hands wrung in front of him.

“Where’s the reg?”

“Theatre.”

“Obs?”

“BP’s in his boots,” Kenny says, “sats ninety-two, pulse up. He’s pyrexial again.”

Eve stares from the foot of the bed at the drowsy man in front of her. She gets Hugo to do an A-to-E examination but she already knows the problem: swollen ankles and fluid on the lungs coupled with shot kidneys and sepsis, meant wheeling him to Intensive Care.

“Have you called Konstantin?”

Hugo rests his stethoscope around his neck and fiddles with its bell, “Yeah. He had to go home – his kid got sick, wife’s in Moscow.”

“So, who’s the second on-call?” she moves out of the side-room, Hugo trailing behind her as she scrolls through her phone to check the rota PDF.

“Nobody.”

“ _What?”_

“Prof Martens is on stand-by for ICU but - ”

“The reg. Who’s the reg?”

“Oksana.”

Eve sighs, pressing her fingers into her eyes to get her thoughts in order before scraping her hand through her hair. When she looks to Hugo again, he’s grimacing, pleading with her to help him out.

“Go take some up-to-date bloods - they’ll want them. I’ll call her.”

His shoulders deflate and he mouths _thank you_ as he turns to get the right equipment.

Eve slumps into the chair at the nurses’ station and fires off the bleep. She’s relieved when the call comes instantly.

“Anaesthetic registrar on-call.”

“Oksana.”

A moment of quiet, and then, “Eve. How nice of you to call.”

Eve bristles. “I need you to do something.”

Oksana’s laugh is light, airy, _amused_ , and God does it make Eve feel like shit.

“I need a transfer. I need you to talk to Carolyn.”

“ _Carolyn_ ,” she says slowly. “You want me to get you an ICU bed? This is very out of character, Eve. I try to help you, you don’t want my help. I stay away, you want my help. Which one should I do? I am unclear.”

Eve feels herself rumble with irritation. She would do it herself – she suspects she’ll end up having to anyway, but there are protocols to follow and the ICU-Anaesthetics alliance had always been much stronger than that with Trauma. She figured it was worth a shot, pride be damned.

“My patient is sick. _Multi-organ-failure_ sick. Oksana, just make the call, and I’ll never ask you for anything again, I swear, I just really need you to -”

“I am very busy, Eve. I would love to help you, sure. But we are about to start theatre and I already have my scrub cap on, so what you are asking - ”

Eve slams the plastic phone down.

She can feel her heart hammer at the base of her throat. She flicks through her phone, hovering over the call button as Carolyn’s name flashes up on her screen.

She was probably fast asleep at her Chelsea home, ignorant to the suffering of mere mortals. Or hosting another dinner party. Waking her would end in disaster either way, but what other option did Eve have?

She takes a hard swallow and presses the button.

“Carolyn Martens.”

She cringes. “Good morning. It’s Eve.”

“Eve.” Carolyn sounds chipper yet cautious, and Eve ploughs on clumsily just so she doesn’t have to listen to the inevitable air of calm apathy Carolyn usually entertained her with.

She gives a thorough hand-over as Carolyn listens. She doesn’t realise she’s anxiously shredded her entire patient list until Carolyn hums back at her.

“Oh dear. It sounds like a bit of a nuisance, doesn’t it?”

Eve scrunches the paper into a fist.

“I’ll see what I can do for you both. Honestly, I'm not quite sure we’ll manage – all our beds are taken, as I’m sure you know.”

“I know, I just thought - ”

“Oh, and Eve?”

“Yeah.”

“Next time, you really must try to go through the anaesthetic registrar first. We have protocols to follow, tedious as they may be. Try to get some rest.” And then the line goes dead and Eve lets her face fall into her exhausted hands, angry but hopeful that her luck picks up somewhere before her shift ends.

At handover that morning, she finds Mr Hughes’ bed empty.

The most recent computer entry shows that while she’d been called to operate, Carolyn had arranged the transfer of an ICU occupant to a neighbouring hospital so that space could be freed up for her patient.

The entry below it is Oksana’s, documenting that she’d spoken to Carolyn not long after Eve called, and thus played a pivotal part in Mr Hughes’ escalation of care. Eve stares at it for long minutes, unsure whether to feel relieved or fed up.

She's prompted to finally go home only when the day consultant gently taps her on the shoulder and reminds her to enjoy her day off.

In the lift, she lets the house keys in her coat pocket scratch at her fingers. Her tired reflection stares back at her from within the metallic walls. She looks to her phone to find a morning message from Niko and one from her mother, whom she’d meant but failed to call one time too many.

The doors jerk open, intercepted by Oksana’s boot.

Eve blinks up at her. Her stomach drops.

“Hello,” Oksana nods, stepping inside and repressing the ground button. They don’t look at each other directly, but Eve catches her eye in the lift door. “Going home?”

“Yeah.”

Oksana smiles. It’s small and careful. Expectant.

Eve rolls her eyes. “And you?”

“Breakfast. I could eat a _bear_ ,” her eyes widen comically and it would almost make Eve laugh but for the abrupt loud _ding_ , interrupting them with a cacophony of sounds as the doors open out into the noisy hospital foyer.

Oksana waits politely for Eve to step out first, hands in the pockets of her leather bomber jacket as she leans against the wall.

Eve nods her acknowledgement, then does. She wonders if Oksana’s going to mention the night before, if she’s going to prod at her, provoke her like she always does, or worse, gloat.

Instead, Oksana falls into step with her, silent, all the way past Costa and out into the busy London streets.

For a few minutes, they stare out at the bustling commuter crowd, the sea of black suits and colliding bodies they’ll both have to negotiate to get home. Eve blinks against the sunlight and turns.

“I know what you did for Mr Hughes.”

There’s that smile again - so familiarly annoying, Eve seriously contemplates walking away without another word.

Oksana gives a noncommittal shrug. “He will probably die soon.”

The words land with a punch, nauseating and hurtful. Distantly, like an echo, Eve knows it’s probably true - that they’re fighting a lost cause. But everything within her wills it to not be so. She’d worked so hard. She’d grown to like Gerald, despite his body habitus and penchant for rugby talk. She’d done a fantastic job on his surgery. He'd remained in good spirits and besides, without hope, what else were they left with?

“You don’t know that.”

“He is _big_ ,” Oksana gestures crudely. “Do you put him in the MRI at the zoo when he needs imaging?”

Eve scoffs. She folds her arms tight across her chest, handbag clutched to her side, head shaking in disbelief as she takes in Oksana’s passive, disgusted expression.

“You’re being serious.”

“What?”

“How can you be so callous?”

Oksana blows a raspberry, squinting at the stretch of London Bridge to their side.

“Not callous. Just realistic.”

Eve nods slowly. Her chest aches. “You don’t care?”

A shrug.

“You don’t feel anything?”

Oksana looks at her. Her brow quirks, mouth moving as if to say something, then pursing together in stubborn defiance.

No matter how hard she tried, Eve still hadn’t come any closer to understanding, or predicting what Oksana might do next. She gives up, fastening her mackintosh as the mid-September wind picks up.

“Do you want to go and get some breakfast?”

Eve laughs then, an empty, hoarse sound that collapses in on itself before it’s made it past her lips.

She never eats. Never after night shifts, too consumed with worry or fatigue or the high of a successful emergency op. She’ll go home and she’ll smoke, letting the taste of black, boiling coffee do the rest.

Instead of telling Oksana this, she sucks her lips over her teeth and turns towards the nearest Underground station.

“Not with you.”


	12. Chapter 12

//

The following week passes in a blur.

She spends her day off tidying around the house in a zombie-like state, and then not talking to Niko during dinner after he wakes her from her comatose heap on the sofa.

The ward rounds are a mess.

They have too many outliers and not enough time to see them. She makes Hugo man their base ward so she can visit ICU several times a day, always returning with worse news, worse numbers despite Carolyn’s best efforts to improve Gerald’s condition. They'd dialysed him, pumped him full of drugs to strengthen his heart and doped him up on the strongest antibiotics micro could find.

Still, Eve knew. She knew from the way he no longer opened his eyes to look at her, no longer chatted about sports, no longer laughed with her even when she tried calling him by his first name. There were only grunts, pained as his fingertips flickered on white linen.

Most days, Konstantin stops by to check on him too, and gives Eve caramels from his scrub pocket whenever they cross paths, hoping it’ll sweeten the bitter taste he’d last left her with. She feels the thread unravel a little more, slowly but inevitably, feels her knees buckle under it all.

So, it’s no surprise then, when Jess announces the date of her maternity leave – end of the month – just as her bleep goes off. She barely has time to reach the ward phone before her mobile rings too.

“Eve. You need to come.” It’s Konstantin.

She takes Jess with her up to intensive care, where he hovers by the doorway for them, stepping up to greet them with big, shepherding arms.

“It is not good.”

Eve stares at him. She hopes his eyes will tell her before his mouth does, but all she finds is a bottomless grey there that's difficult to read. She pushes past him and through the secure double doors, heart restless in her chest and in her throat.

She sees Carolyn first. She stands tall amongst a team of doctors who crowd the bedside. Oksana takes notes by the ventilator.

“Good of you to join us,” Carolyn frowns, taking her to the side by the elbow. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Eve’s eyes flicker from Carolyn’s to Mr Hughes’ intubated body, up to the cardiac monitor as it steadily beeps. She may have been a surgeon, but it didn’t mean she needed it spelled out, and yet –

“Gerald seems to have had quite a significant cerebral event, possibly from the stress of his septicaemia. It happened in the early morning hours. We would have let you know sooner, but I presumed it might cause quite a bit of stress and - ”

“What?”

“A stroke, Eve, it’s when -”

“No,” Eve shakes her head, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself, “I know what it is – what time?”

“Middle of the night. Oksana called to notify me. I came as soon as circumstances allowed - Kenny had to drive across town, poor thing, and the _traffic_ , Eve, trully, it was _godless..._ ”

This is what it was like – that feeling of loss Eve was all too familiar with but never quite grew accustomed to: like the drop of a yoyo, turning her insides out as she tried to keep herself suspended by whatever hope there was left; like being held underwater with little end in sight; like looking into a mirror and knowing that it hadn’t been good enough, hadn’t been fast enough, _she_ hadn’t been good enough.

She clenches her hands into her cardigan, the button edges digging into her palms.

Her ears ring. She hadn’t taken in a word Carolyn had said.

“So, we thrombolyse him.”

Carolyn gives a purse-lipped smile, eyes narrowing in a show of sympathy.

“Yes, we’ve certainly tried that.”

Eve waits for the punchline. She waits for Carolyn to tell her there’s been improvement, that it might take time. But it doesn’t come. Only that sombre, pitiful look that makes the backs of Eve’s eyes itch no matter how hard she tries to fight it.

She takes a deep, shaky breath.

“So, we wait.”

Carolyn hums quietly. “That is one option.”

The silence grows, thick and heavy in the base of Eve’s throat where all her words collect in one jumbled mess.

She moves away then, to find anyone else. To find Konstantin. After all, he'd been the first to tell her, maybe he could fill in the rest.

He stands beside Oksana. The red form he holds flashes up at her, mocking her with its large, garish letters.

 _Do Not Attempt Resuscitation_.

It had already been signed.

She chokes down an angry sob, staring up at him for an explanation. Instead, he lifts his hand to her, like he always does, but when it lands on her shoulder, it brings pain instead of comfort and Eve recoils, shoving him.

“ _Don’t_.”

“Eve - ” he tries to touch her again but she bats him away, meeting Oksana’s curious eyes over his shoulder.

“I can’t believe you,” she grits out, moving backwards even as Konstantin steps towards her once, freezing as she wipes at her eyes and collides with a fluid stand.

“We have to think about organ donation, it is brainstem death and - ”

The rest is drowned out by shock and adrenaline and heartbreak and she doesn’t stay to hear the rest, dodging past Jess and hurrying out of the unit before anyone can catch up to her.

She grapples with her phone. The screen turns blurry with her tears and she scrolls quickly, searching and searching, careful not to slam into passers-by in the hall.

The call connects just as she finds the toilets. They're empty and she stumbles into the nearest cubicle, letting herself slump onto the seat as she starts to sob.

_Hey it's Niko! Leave me a message. Then text me to tell me you have because I always forget to listen to them!_

She disconnects, then tries again, and then once more, his chirpy answerphone voice turning her misery into anger until she’s typing out her rage and letting her tears come hard and fast into her trembling hands.

This was loneliness. This was facing the consequences of hard work lost. This was acknowledging mortality, others’ but mostly her own, and the limited power it came with.

She sniffs back her snot and unravels a wad of toilet paper.

The main door sighs open. She sits up, shoving the tissue under her nose to stifle the sound.

“Eve?”

She squeezes her eyes shut.

“I know you are here.” Oksana’s voice comes closer until Eve can see the shadow of her just beneath the cubicle door. “Are you going to come out?”

Eve pictures herself stomping out, shoving Oksana nonchalantly before making her escape. But her lungs are clogged and her eyes are shot, and it’s going to take more than toilet roll to patch her back together.

“No.”

“No? You are going to stay here all day?”

“No.”

She hears Oksana laugh softly. “Then I will wait for you until you come out.”

She tosses the toilet paper into the bowl and grabs another piece. “Oksana?”

“Eve.”

“Could you just...fuck off - alright? Just -” she croaks, blotting her eyes, “fuck off.”

There’s no reply but the sound of the door closing doesn’t come, so she assumes Oksana’s still there, lingering by the sink, eyes bright and skin fresh despite another all-nighter.

She tugs the tie from her hair and smears her face clean one last time.

When she steps out, Oksana is by the sink. She looks tired though, _human_ , and something else, something Eve’s not seen before, something softer that makes her feel a sliver of guilt amidst the tornado of her day.

She blinks up into the mirror. Oksana’s eyes reflect there, just like they'd done in the lift. Their familiarity quietens her.

She waits to be lectured: about DNARs and extubation and organ donation, and worst of all, _I-told-you-so_ s.

Instead, Oksana leans against the opposing wall, mouth quirking as she says, “You should wear it down.”

Eve frowns. She stares at her reflection. Her curls had gotten even more tangled in the confines of her tie and they pull against her fingers when she runs her hands through them.

“You’ve already told me.”

Oksana shrugs. “I know. It looks nice.” Her voice is quiet, careful, Eve almost has to strain to hear it.

She pushes off the counter and folds her arms.

“Why are you here?”

Another shrug. “You are here.”

Eve scoffs.

“I thought I could make you feel better.”

“ _Really_.”

“Sure.”

Eve feels the tendons in her neck pull. She bites into the side of her tongue, her molars sharp around the muscle as it twitches in pain. The words she wants to say flicker within her like a wheel of fortune – she lets the spinner land where it may.

“My patient is dead.”

Oksana hums.

“Because of me.”

“No,” she steps away from the wall to move closer. “You are wrong.”

Eve feels herself swell again, with tears and emotion, and she stuffs both down quickly even as Oksana closes in on her. “Don’t, Oksana. Not now. Any other day, but not - ”

“He died because he was _big_. He didn’t take his insulin. He had bad kidneys. Bad heart. Bad circulation.”

“And I operated, _stupidly_ -”

“And you operated because he was in pain. You did your job, Eve. You are good at it, I know. Konstantin reminds me every day,” she rolls her eyes, “I think you are his favourite,” and then gently, “I think he loves you more than me.”

“It was _my_ fault.”

“Don't do that," Oksana snaps softly. She steps in, shaking her head, her gaze focussed. "Don't do that," she says again. "He had an infection. Bacteria eat sugar. And fat. Really, it is no surprise. He did it to himself.”

It stuns her yet again – Oksana’s complete detachment, her disregard. It should lighten her burden, but all it does is make her angry, which she supposes is better than making her sad.

She looks up into Oksana’s eyes, praying to find the empathy that her words lack. There is only murky hazel, and pupils blown wide beneath the neon bathroom lights.

The fight in her deflates and her shoulders fall.

“You don’t give a shit.”

“And you care too much, Eve. It is just a job. People die, sure, but sometimes they...don't?" Oksana tries, her hand pressed carefully against the cool sink basin where Eve's own lies, “You will not be happy if you don't let go once in a while. I can help you.”

Eve figured she’d been doing just fine. In fact, life had been quite simple up until two months ago.

She wipes both hands on her trousers and fixes the top button of her shirt.

"The thing is, Oksana - You make it worse. You make everything _worse_ ," she manages hoarsely, and her voice trembles where she needs it to be steady, her throat tight around her tears, because what she said is the truth just as much as it isn't. Oksana did make it worse: made it harder to think and to sleep and to get things done the way she was used to.

And she made it better, in all the ways Eve refused to count, letting the thought gnaw away at her as she hurries out of the bathroom, relieved that this time, no footsteps fall behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all need an Elena.

//

The fight comes as a relief.

It comes as gasoline to an ember, an explosion (or with Niko, a burgeoning _im_ plosion Eve throws her entire self into, welcoming the heat and the fury and the cleansing) when she stumbles through the door to find his sullen face waiting for her at the dinner table.

It comes after days without Jess, days with Hugo off the wards and in bed with the flu.

It comes after Carolyn calls her into her office and speaks to her in a manner that isn’t yelling but definitely feels like yelling, most of all when she tells Eve that _it’s about bed space, Eve, nothing personal, just the business of making room for new bodies, new problems, a transaction, gate-keeping of sorts, life and death - you know that._

So Eve swallows down the bile and the fatigue, drowns them both in an evening with Bill, away from his pregnant wife and away from Niko, who seemed to always be there, waiting to berate her or bore her or suck what little sense of self she had left.

She drops her handbag by the door and shrugs out of her drenched coat. It reeks of cigarette smoke. She stumbles a little, smirking as she rights herself against the dining table.

Niko leans forward in his seat.

“Eve.”

Eve scrapes her hands through her wet hair, the curls thick and matted in her hands. She lets them pull, lets her scalp sting because she needs to feel it, needs to feel something other than perpetual apathy under Niko’s worried eyes, under his needy hands and day-old stubble.

“Yes,” she straightens, pulling out the chair facing him. She pretends to be one of his pupils, hands obediently folded in front of her, knees together. The roleplay could be arousing. It should be – the thought of him hard and harsh, frightening and loving her. Instead it makes her snicker, so she gives up the charade and flings her arm over the back rest.

“It’s after eleven.”

“Yes it is.”

Niko sighs. He rubs a hand over his face and then over his moustache. Eve finds it hard to take him seriously.

“I was worried about you.”

There it is: the calm grey of it saturating Niko’s tone, his accent low and too-soft and too-dull. It feels like a rainy cloud over her.

Eve clicks her tongue. “How convenient for you.”

“What?”

“How convenient for you, to worry about me,” she bites, cocking her head. She’s not being fair, she knows – Niko had put up with her bullshit for years on end, juggling his own job whilst pampering and spoiling and waiting on her every need. She had absolutely no right to hold one missed call against him.

But she will. She grabs it petulantly and yanks.

“Maybe if you answered your phone -"

“You can’t be serious.”

She deadpans. He wears checked pyjamas that she’d bought him two Christmases ago. She wonders how long until he threw them out.

“I was with Bill.”

Niko’s eyes flash. Eve secretly hopes he loses it in one beautiful, gigantic, jealous tirade. She wants him in her personal space, wants to feel his spit on her just so she can shove him, but she watches his mouth fall at the corners and knock another nail in their coffin.

“I don’t mind if you’re with him, if you’re with anyone, I just - ”

“Bull _shit_.”

“Eve - ”

“Want to know what we talked about?”

Niko blinks. His hands lie flat against the dinner table, twitching against the wood.

“You,” Eve stands, stepping around to pour herself some water. With her back to him, she starts, “We talked about you. We talk about you a lot, actually,” she gulps her drink, turning to watch him over the rim of her glass. The doorbell rings but she ignores it, staring Niko down even as he cranes to check who the late-night visit might be from.

She’s an asshole. She wants Niko to see her though, exactly like this, the way she is at work sometimes, difficult and manipulative and _ugly_.

Niko scrapes his chair back to face her.

“You know what Bill thinks?”

“It’s late,” he says firmly, rising to meet her half-way, “we both have work in the morning and I’d rather not - ”

“That you’re boring,” she scoffs, glass clinking as she sets it in the sink. She wipes her hands on the towel, then tosses it behind her. She knows she should feel guilty, maybe even regretful. She feels neither. “Do you think you are? Boring? He thinks you don’t challenge me enough.”

Niko shakes his head, tugging on his moustache, his jaw tight under Eve’s glaring eyes.

“I was worrying my arse off and I would’ve appreciated a text to say you were out. You’re being unkind,” he snaps, arms locked across his chest.

Eve ploughs on. “You know what? I think,” she chuckles, sucking her lips over her teeth and nodding decisively, “I think he might be right. I mean, _Jesus_. We go to Bridge club on weekends, Niko, we’re in our _forties,_ for fuck's _sake._ When’s the last time we went out? When’s the last time we fucked? God, when’s the last time we _fought_? Huh? We - ”

“I don’t want to fight with you - ”

“We play nice,” she raises her voice, “and we talk low and we eat and sleep and live but I don’t – I just – It feels like we’re _co-existing_ and I don’t feel – I don't -" she growls, "fucking _hell_ ,” she lets her hands fall, slapping against her sides. She feels hot under her shirt. It’s giving her a headache and making her nauseous and it could be the alcohol but it’s probably this and – “Do you even know who I am anymore? It feels like – It feels like you don’t know me at all.”

Niko’s eyes change. Eve can see them go that melancholy brown, red and wet and she could touch him, she could cradle him but it irks her, it eats at her how much she doesn't want to.

“I’ve known you for fifteen years,” he swallows. His brow falls low as his mouth flattens, “I’ve loved you for twenty. We never said this was going to be easy but fuck me if I don't care about you more than anything, more than my work,” he says pointedly - Eve doesn’t miss the dig - “more than my friends. You’re my family, Eve."

Eve pushes her hands into her pockets. Lets herself slump against the opposing wall. “Yeah," she sighs. "And sometimes I think I’m all you’ve got.”

There it is. She wants to take it back as soon as she's said it but Niko's already bruised by it, face ashen as he walks by her and out of the kitchen. He lingers in the hall, waiting to see if she might follow.

And it’s only after she hears the creak of the wonky top stair and the slam of the bedroom door, that she realises she won't.

She pulls out her phone and fires off a text.

Me:

_I need a place to crash._

She’s at Elena’s in under twenty minutes.

It only dawns on her as her Uber pulls up outside the flat: carved pumpkins in the windowsill. She groans. She shoves right past a group of kids that look way too old to be trick-or-treating and waits for Elena to come down and get her. The beginnings of guilt settle in, but only as she sees Elena drop a bunch of candy into one of the teenager’s bags and usher her in with an enormous hug.

“You look like shit,” she says once they’re through the door and Eve’s out of her coat. She doesn’t get to respond though because Elena lifts a wine bottle from her living room coffee table where it stood between two glasses.

Eve cringes. “We have work tomorrow.”

“ _You_ have work tomorrow,” Elena grins, “and it’s clinic – so it doesn’t count. Sit,” she pats the cushion beside her, “spill. But first, let's get shitfaced," she tips a glass in Eve’s direction and Eve eyes it for a minute – _this is a horrible idea_ – and then whines, taking her Merlot and downing it in four quick gulps. Elena stares at her. "Fuck me sideways.”

Eve slumps into the sofa. She expects an onslaught of questions or a savage Niko-centred tongue-lash. Elena is intelligent though, and Eve had never given her enough credit for how in-tune she always was, how patient and reliable and absolutely perfect.

"You know, I went to hot yoga last week? First time ever."

Eve relaxes, glad for the diversion.

"Meningitis break-out three days later - how batshit is that?"

"Perfect breeding ground, I guess."

Elena hums disappointedly, reaching to top up Eve's glass. "I was this close to getting dicked down," she narrows her fingers into a tiny pinch, " _this_ close."

That makes Eve _really_ laugh and she swivels in her seat so they can look at each other properly. "Are you seeing anyone?"

" _Duh_ ," Elena rolls her eyes, swigging her wine, "my Excel spreadsheet and half-a-dozen microscope slides."

"Gross. I need a time-out. _We_ need a time-out."

" _You_ , need to get laid. Honestly. There is nothing, and I mean, _nothing_ , that the right shag can't solve. A bit of slap-and-tickle, Eve, I promise you," Elena looks her dead in the eye and it would make Eve blush, but the wine's already kicked in and Elena's grinning at her with unadulterated mischief and Eve knows she's right, knows that she needs to let her hair down and forget about things for a while. "Why don't you let me take you out?"

Eve scoffs. "I'm married. And you're the worst."

"Okay, well, I mean, there's married, and then there's _married."_

"Don't."

There's a big, dramatic sigh. Elena takes her feet into her lap and starts rubbing them sympathetically. "I'm kidding. Listen - you don't have to boink anyone. I'll take you out in Clapham, we'll flirt a bit, get completely off our tits and find ourselves the dirtiest kebabs money can buy."

"Sure. Like you took Bill and left me to play Bridge?"

Elena makes a face. "It was one time."

" _Bridge_."

"Well, what's your schedule looking like next week?"

"On-call."

"The weekend then."

"Nights."

"Shit the bed," Elena whispers. "Swaps, or...?"

Eve looks at her guiltily.

"You do it to yourself."

Yes, absolutely. She was a self-made workaholic, Eve knew that. It always felt good though, to throw herself fully into something so she could forget about the rest.

"I was joking, by the way - about - "

"I know," Eve swallows, "I would _never_ -"

"I know," Elena squeezes her shin. "You're too pure for this world. You're an asshole - and - a functioning alcoholic, apparently," she laughs, raising her eyebrow at Eve's empty glass, "but - I know. Niko's -" she sighs, "and you're - you know, _amazing._ You'll figure it out. And I'm here. I'm always here."

Eve blinks, quickly, sitting forward to pull Elena's hands between her own. She does need to, has been needing to for the better part of two years - figure it out, that is, for Niko's sake and her own sanity. Lately, it had felt a bit like maybe things would crystallise themselves sooner than she'd planned. And after a decade of growing stagnation, she was finally ready for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S1 finale parallels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two parter

//

_a)_

Except _more_ comes in the form of an incredibly disgusting hangover and a long operating list spent with Konstantin, who keeps trying to make eye contact with her across the table, even as she shrinks further behind her plastic visor and tries not to inhale the smell of her own breath.

"You are not looking so fresh, Eve."

She grunts, focussing on the shattered ribcage in front of her. Her colleague - a cardiothoracic surgeon who'd offered to help with the trauma case - glances up at her to make his own assessment. He hums in agreement. Eve does her best to keep from kicking him beneath the table. She'd grown tired of being surrounded by men all morning and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

"It is what happens when you drink with other people and not me," Konstantin smirks, shaking his head as he clicks his pen against the notes in his lap.

Eve lets the suction drop. "Are you going to back off?"

"A joke, it is just a joke," he laughs this time. His eyes are kind, bright, welcoming as only his can be. Eve knows that if she looks at them for even a minute longer she'll start to crack, so she grabs the scalpel and reaches over to help her operating partner dissect down to the vessels. "Look. I am on your side."

She grips the scalpel tighter, knuckles bumping harshly against her colleague's.

"Sure you are. You don't _have_ a side, Vasiliev." The fascia comes away easily, faster than she usually does it but the sooner they get this over with, the sooner she can stop sweating beneath her operating gown and go lie down for five minutes.

She makes quick, liberal strokes with her hand, listening as Konstantin tries to reassure her, talking over the sound of the radio about how much he loved working with her, how much he missed time in theatre with her which had recently become time in clinic with Oksana and time doing research for Carolyn. He tells her there's no need to be so _grumpy_ , that he'll make it up to her with his wife's incredible stew and home-made brandy from St Petersburg and maybe they could get together after work, maybe Oksana could come along and -

" _Fuck_ ," she hisses. The blood comes hard and fast, pulsating into her hands and over the sterile blue drapes. She grapples for spare gauze, snaps her head up when her colleague grabs the suturing kit just as Konstantin's machines start to go. "Shit, fuck it, I'm sorry," she puts the suction to use, glancing to see blood travel up the tubes and towards Konstantin. The patient's pulse is already sky-high, central pressure plummeting into his boots. "I fucked it, I thought - "

"It's alright," the doctor holds up a bloodied hand, instructing her to try and get the damaged vessel repaired quickly. The tissue's friable and sclerosed and each time the needle and vicryl go through, more of it rips, sending more blood across the table.

"God _dammit_."

Konstantin turns off the radio calmly and it silences Eve too, gives her a second to think as he makes an urgent call for the bank to send more blood, as he injects drugs into the patient's spare cannula and sets up bags of fluid. He's quiet and he's measured but there's surprise there, and dare she say, disappointment?

Eve swallows back her anxiety but mostly her shame, written clear as day in her trembling hands and burning face. What the hell was wrong with her? How the hell had she _cut through an artery?_ It had been right there, right in front of her eyes, she would've moved it out of the way -

"That's at least two litres," the thoracics consultant announces. He's only half-way to suturing the tear and Eve's not sure whether to help or step out of the way altogether. Konstantin nods. The bags of blood arrive quickly and Eve de-scrubs to lend a hand putting them up, sighing as the obs on the monitor start to right themselves.

"I saved your ass," Konstantin says softly. Eve moves to step away but he pulls her back by the wrist, brings her close, then gently puts a hand on her cheek. "You are going rogue."

"I didn't - "

"You are not looking after yourself."

"I'm fine, I - "

Konstantin tuts. He brackets her shoulders with his palms, squeezing her lightly. "Burnout. You are going to burn out."

She takes a trembling breath, tries to straighten herself, to puff out her chest confidently but there's nothing left in her. She needs coffee. She needs not to work, just for a day. Hell, an evening would be enough to recharge, to clear her head and refocus.

She thought that evening would be this evening, an operating list finished early and a rare opportunity to get home on time.

The trauma call comes at ten-to-five.

It catches her in the corridor once she's already in her slacks and trenchcoat, handbag on her shoulder, contactless travel card ready in her pocket. She has to pass through A&E to reach the main exit though and gets snagged by the ED consultant who pleads with her, panicking as she drags Eve into the department.

"Towerblock fire - "

" _Another_ one?"

She doesn't need an explanation. The emergency unit's already rammed with casualties: burns victims, trauma victims who'd attempted to jump, patients who'll need respiratory support and treatment for sepsis, children and the elderly and pregnant women all hovering, desparate to latch onto a member of the medical team.

She quickly changes into scrubs, tosses her belongings into the doctors' Mess and tries to get stuck in as much as her aching legs and back will allow.

She finds the team in Resus.

Konstantin's already there. He's overseeing a couple of his registrars as they go about cannulating and intubating whoever needs it. She sidles up to him but doesn't look at him, scanning to see where she might be needed most.

"I told you to go home."

"And what about you?"

Konstantin frowns at her, his burly arms across his wide chest. "I have had my weekends. You have been working like a horse."

Eve thinks on it for a moment, then makes the decision to lean gently into him so their elbows touch in a show of camaraderie. They both watch as Oksana effortlessly pops in a laryngeal mask airway, then leaves it to one of the juniors to bag-and-mask. When she's finished, she looks up to Konstantin, maybe for approval but mostly with pride, her eyes flicking to Eve's, surprised to find her there, mouth parting and then pursing stubbornly as she moves onto the next patient.

"I'll help," Eve mumbles, striding across the bay to the patient lying beside Oksana's next one. She takes over the ABCDE assessment whilst sneaking glances to check that Oksana's okay. "Hi," she manages softly once she's got a spare minute to think about her next move.

Oksana doesn't reply. She throws daggers at the body in front of her - a body so horrifically burnt, Eve struggles to identify the gender. She watches Oksana put the laryngoscope down to attempt intubation, but the endotracheal tube just won't descend and she growls in frustration, stomping her foot as she tries with more force. There's a tirade of angry Russian spat through gritted teeth, and then Konstantin right beside her, firmly pushing her out of the way as they argue back-and-forth.

Eve watches, tired and dumbfounded at the way Oksana's eyes flash angrily, at the way she seems so invested in the work in front of her.

"I can do it, Konstantin, you are not my _babysitter_ -"

" _Oksana_ ," he bites, and then softer, "don't be naughty." Oksana quietens. Her bottom lip sticks out and her nostrils flare, brows pinched together. Her fingers clench around her hips defiantly but she steps back, almost colliding with Eve as she lets him work.

It turns out the patient needs a tracheostomy - something Oksana had not done before. Eve had though, in all her years of trauma but she doesn't offer to help, too exhausted to see straight.

The pair of them watch Konstantin make a cut in the neck, then secure the breathing tube and arrange for a transfer to ITU. Eve thinks about saying something to him or Oksana or both, but the words stick like flies in honey.

She seeks out the chaos around her. All she has to do is _do_ , and not speak, putting herself on auto-pilot for the next few hours.

After that, A&E starts to clear. It doesn't happen until late into the evening though - so late in fact, that Eve toys with the idea of spending the night in an on-call room just so she doesn't have to face her morning commute.

She drags herself back to the doctors' Mess to collect her things. Her headache's turning into a migraine, nauseating and off-kilter, and she misses Oksana entirely in her haste to put on her coat and zip up her bag. It's not until the burbling kettle erupts from the small kitchen counter that her eyes snap up.

"Oh."

Oksana turns to look at her carefully.

"Hi."

Oksana doesn't answer, only moves to make herself a drink, gaze flicking back to Eve as she stirs sugar into her paper cup.

Eve summons a small smile. The handbag falls back onto the cushions. She hesitates for a moment, waiting to see if Oksana might ditch the tea as well as the inevitable conflict their time together seemed to bring. When it doesn't happen, she lowers herself onto the sofa and drops her head back to stare at the ceiling.

All she can hear is the distant sound of the TV and Oksana's pottering as a drawer closes here and a teaspoon clangs there. She closes her eyes to savour the comfort the sounds bring. Her head throbs. "God, I'm tired."

She might just fall asleep, here in this little haven she figures should feel more awkward than it does. Or maybe she's just too knackered to care.

"Aren't you tired?"

There's a quiet rustle and then a gentle thud to indicate that Oksana's set her cup on the coffee table.

"A little, yeah."

Eve hums. She wonders what time it is. She can't quite bring herself to check her wristwatch, content to stay just the way she is, just for a while longer. She feels the sofa dip with the weight of Oksana's body but instead of pumping her full of tension, instead of curdling her masseters, the movement sinks her further into the cushions and she's relieved for the first time in a long time, not to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft.

_b)_

When she opens her eyes, Oksana's are already on her.

The first thing she notices is the blood. There are splatters all over Oksana's scrubs and a couple of other stains she doesn't spend too long trying to name. In any other situation, she would think Oksana almost feral, but in this one, Oksana is boneless and disarmed as she sprawls across her seat.

The second thing is that there are two cups of tea on the coffee table.

Oksana raises her hands, wriggling her fingers, "Clean. Promise."

Eve gives in, the rim of the cup pressing into a barely concealed smile. The tea goes down a treat, warming her insides and her palms as she cradles it to her chest.

"I could have done it myself, you know," Oksana sulks. Eve almost asks for clarification, when she continues, "Konstantin - sometimes, he is very - "

"Unpredictable?" Eve offers.

" _Annoying_."

She watches Oksana's eyes roll in their sockets and hums, a neither here nor there sound as she continues to work on her tea. She toes off her shoes and props her feet on the coffee table, inches from where Oksana's rest.

"Have you met his daughter?"

Eve had heard so much about Irina. She'd been dying to meet her, to see whether she married up with the version in her mind. She'd always envisioned her as young but confident, a small firecracker to light up Konstantin's heart. And he had bounds of love for her, if the way he spoke of her was anything to go by.

"Not yet, still working on it."

Oksana scoffs. "She is _very_ annoying." There's a beat where she chews on her mouth thoughtfully and Eve watches her cheeks bulge, eyes softening as she says, "I like her."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. They are...like family."

Eve remembers Konstantin feeding her scraps of information about Oksana, about her childhood. How curious she'd been to learn more. Yet now, as she finds herself at arm's length with this woman who very much remains a mystery, she struggles to ask for herself, the words awkward and intrusive in her mouth.

She takes one last sip to buy her time, then sets the cup to the side. She wonders if Oksana might call her out for wavering so much.

Oksana only looks back at her, somewhat sedate though with that familiar, focussed shadow in her eyes.

Eve concedes. "What about your family?" The question hovers, suspended between them. She knows she won't get an answer. She expects the silence but not the sadness that sinks into the corners of Oksana's mouth.

"I'm tired, Eve. And we are not drunk."

She tries out a soft smile. "Understood."

"And you?" 

Eve shrugs.

"You are married," Oksana points out gently, eyes flicking to her ring.

Never before had she felt the weight of it so intensely, not in all the times it snagged on her operating glove, not as her hands swelled under the hot theatre lights, the band digging further into her skin.

She had a sneaking suspicion it wouldn't be there for much longer.

"Mmm." Something inside her flutters and then falls, leaving an echo in its wake. She touches the cool gold. "I'm tired, Oksana. And we're not drunk."

Oksana grins at her. " _Touché_."

It sounds light and crisp as Oksana says it. Eve had listened to her speak English, Italian, French and Russian. If she had to pick a favourite however, it would be the latter:

She liked the way it curled in the back of Oksana's mouth, rich and dark whenever she was overcome with emotion, which admittedly, wasn't often. She really liked how different it was from her own chewy American.

The silence between them drags. It's long enough for Eve to lose track of time altogether.

She finds herself glancing to Oksana every few minutes or so, mildly amused at the mess she'd made of herself, the only tidy part of her a low-lying bun Eve was so used to by now.

"Do you like what you do?"

Oksana arches her brow thoughtfully, as if trying to assess the motive behind the question. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I like the danger."

"The _danger_ ," Eve laughs, grimacing. "That's not the obvious answer."

Oksana pouts at her.

"No, go ahead!"

"That's it," she leans back, linking her fingers at the base of her neck as she reclines. "I don't like the talking, you know - bedside manner, blah, blah, it is so _boring_."

Eve fights the urge to jump in with a petty, sarcastic quip.

"I like them quiet and unconscious," Oksana nods once, then goes on to confirm all of Eve's suspicions - that she liked acute things, the life-and-death things, the urgent things that required little feeling but a lot of thought, the practical things. "I am excellent at what I do."

Eve knew that. She knew, but she's too taken back by Oksana's complete lack of modesty, her playful arrogance that's captivating and unbelievable in equal measure.

"We like the things we are good at. Do you like your job, Eve? You are very good at yours."

She shifts in her seat, mindful not to preen. "Yes. And thank you."

Oksana flashes her a smile. "You are welcome."

"And for the..." she gestures to her drink.

"You're welcome," the smile widens. "So. What is it that you like?" There's an edge there, canine-sharp and probing. Eve could easily snag herself on it.

For a split second, she thinks to ask, _In work or in life?_ and goes for the former. "I like being practical. I've always been good with my hands, it's sort of why I became a surgeon - " (She doesn't mention her Korean parents - that stone was best left turned on another day, if it ever came) "then again," she inhales, her cheeks warming under Oksana's interested gaze, "I do like my patients. I prefer them _conscious_ ," she laughs, "I uh - I care about them a lot - "

"I know," Oksana whisper-says, and Eve should feel embarrassed but all she feels is _seen_. It's nice, the way Oksana acknowledges her without judgement or trepidation or compromise on her own beliefs.

"It's important for me to do a good job - to not let them down - to do my best." And _God_ , how true that rang, in how many restful nights she'd lost, how many cigarettes she'd smoked and filter coffees she'd drowned in, searching for perfection. "I know a lot of surgeons don't really - " _give a fuck_ , is what she means, but instead she says, "spend much time outside of theatres but - I like it. I like the post-op ward rounds, I like the clinics, they - give me peace of mind. Somewhat," she taps her fingers on her thigh.

"You are neurotic," Oksana adds helpfully.

"Oh, fuck you."

Oksana's eyes sparkle. Eve watches her lip hide between her teeth, threatening to burst into another smile.

"It was a compliment, actually."

She lets herself get pulled in, but only briefly. "Not exactly what I'd call a compliment."

Oksana clicks her tongue, shrugging. "It's true. Besides. I have complimented you before."

Eve's hands twitch to move into her hair but stay anchored on her thighs, curling against the material of her trousers.

"I only say what I mean, Eve."

"Evidently."

"I would compliment you more, but you are always so - _angry_ with me." It's soft and serious and Eve shrinks a little in her seat, smarting with guilt and embarrassment now they've both had months to catch up with her.

"I don't mean to be."

"No?"

"Not angry," she clears her throat, fumbling for the right feeling. "Just -"

"Annoyed."

"No," the word drags and her lips purse around it sheepishly. "Just..." she looks at Oksana, hoping to convey an apology she knows she's too proud to vocalise. She shouldn't have predicted anything less when Oksana stares at her expectantly, pushing her for an answer. She sighs. "I think you just - I don't know, I think - " her eyes dart from the coffee table to her empty styrofoam cup, and back to the coffee table again.

Oksana rests her temple against a closed fist, leaning towards her a little.

 _Christ_ , this was humiliating. She should've gone home hours ago.

"You caught me off guard."

It seems to be the right answer because Oksana sits back, satisfied, casually crossing her ankles in front of her as though Eve hadn't just poured her heart out, which to be fair, she hadn't, but it certainly felt like she might have.

She waits for Oksana to say something, anything at all - she doesn't. So she glances at her wrist watch and rubs her hands over her face and then over the worn leather of her bag, moving to gather her coat when Oksana finally turns to face her.

"Eve?"

Her fingers slacken on her mac.

"Will you stay?" and then ever so quietly, "Just for a bit?"

She pictures herself leaving, pictures what Oksana might look like if she did, pictures herself braving the wet November wind and the humid Tube back to Elena's sofa, and then eventually Elena's bed when she comes through for her midnight pee and offers to spoon for the umpteenth night in a row.

And then she pictures herself here, on this sofa, which is more uncomfortable than Elena's but accommodates more space, pictures herself sharing a quiet sort of companionship with Oksana who might ask her more questions but probably won't. She'll definitely keep looking at her like that though, that soft-determined-curious way that Eve couldn't make heads or tails of. 

She sits forward and reaches for their paper cups.

"Do you want more tea?" she finally asks and it's answer enough for Oksana, who nods, quiet as she follows Eve's movements across the room, proving to Eve that she was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess this is an enemies to lovers after all 😂

//

The first thing she does when she wakes up is wiggle her fingers. She'd fallen asleep on her arms again and it takes her a few minutes to shake the crawling sensation off.

The second, is to check her phone.

It's December 1st. She's not in her own bed. It's much colder than back home and she snuggles into her pillow as she fumbles blindly for the phone on her nightstand. There's a message from Bill waiting for her.

She lets her screen light up under the duvet.

Bill:

_Look!_

A tiny newborn stares up at her, pink and wrinkled and perfect, and she pummels her feet into the mattress excitedly, typing out a semi-coherent message as more photos flood her Whatsapp. That meant that she'd somehow become godmother twice in the space of seventy-two hours and yet managed to be absent for both. She's about to apologise, about to demand more photos, about to conference-call both Jess and Bill when -

"Eve."

She drops her hand and pushes her face into her pillow with a loud groan. "Come in."

Konstantin appears in her hotel room door, dressed in a thick black coat and military-style boots. Oksana stands behind him and peers in over his shoulder.

"Fuck."

"Get up," he laughs, stepping in to yank open her curtains. The white-out floods her room in stark light. Inches of snow seem to have gathered on her windowsill while she slept and she hunts for her dressing gown, shivering as they both stare at her.

"What time is it?"

"We have already missed the first lecture," he shrugs. He grabs the paper bag from Oksana and thrusts it in her direction. "We have bought breakfast."

Oksana rolls her eyes. She points to herself to indicate that actually, _she'd_ bought breakfast and Konstantin had probably had his usual cigarette and coffee, which, to be perfectly honest, Eve would prefer.

"Why are we doing this again?" she accepts the food, tossing it onto the bed as she gathers things from her suitcase: a vest and a t-shirt and a turtle neck and tights and extra socks and thermals just in case, because she was British but she was also _Korean_ and _definitely_ not Russian. Sub-zero Alpine conditions just weren't going to cut it.

Konstantin settles himself on the foot of the bed where Oksana's already perched, slapping her hand away from Eve's pastries. "Because Carolyn said so. We will stay for the morning, okay? If you like, we can go after - "

Eve stumbles. Her head pops out of the bathroom door as she wrestles with her tights. "I've missed _two_ births for this."

"What?" Oksana grimaces.

"Bill and Jess," she calls out, like that will explain things. When she's layered up, she steps back out to look for her phone and quickly shows Oksana and Konstantin the photos.

She's overdressed.

She feels like a stuffed turkey next to Oksana who wears a sleek, black Canada Goose parka and fur-trimmed snow boots, and Konstantin, who reminds her of those Soviet-Russia role-reversal jokes and something about _him_ freezing snow and not the other way around.

Oksana laughs. She distracts Eve by taking interest in her Whatsapp thread even if her eyes betray her, a look of stifled disgust on her face.

Eve pockets her phone. "You're a dickhead."

"What?" Oksana whines, looking to Konstantin to come to her defense, "Babies are - " she scrunches her nose, waving her hands in front of her, " _no_. It is just shit and vomit and - the crying, _always_ the _crying_. It is gross."

 _Of course_ that's how she felt, Eve concedes. She's about to scold her, when Konstantin does it instead.

"You like children."

" _No_ ," Oksana blanches. She reminds Eve to take her pastries as they all head for the door, "They are the worst."

"And Irina?"

"She is the worst."

Konstantin chuckles. "This is why you come to help with her Mandarin?"

Eve glances curiously to Oksana who avoids her gaze, raising her eyebrows defiantly at Konstantin. He only stares her down.

"You speak Mandarin?"

Their eyes remain locked as Oksana mumbles quietly, "I'm still learning," and side-steps them both out into the hallway. "You look cute, by the way," she throws in gently over her shoulder once Eve's locked the door and stuffed half a pain au chocolat in her mouth. 

"Bite me," she swallows, the large mouthful sticking in her throat along with papery flakes scattered all around her lips. She doesn't miss Oksana's mischievous but sincere smile, teasing and coy behind Konstantin's back. In a storybook, that smile might warm her from the inside out. All it actually does is widen, when she steps out into tall snow and the violent blizzard proceeds to whip her down to the bone.

The conference is interesting enough for them to spend a few hours mingling with their European colleagues.

Eve sits through a couple of lectures on innovation in trauma, gritting her teeth through the talk on novel intubation techniques in the wilderness, which Oksana seems to really enjoy if her note-taking is anything to go by.

She passes the majority of her time wondering why Carolyn would send all three of them to a French conference, when most of it was anaesthesia-heavy and of little interest to her. Then again, things hadn't been going so well at work. As Medical Director, Eve figured Carolyn had taken note and decided to throw her a bone.

Just before break, she fishes out the second pain au chocolat from its paper bag, careful not to make too much noise or mess when she chews it down quickly in her tiny seat between Oksana and Konstantin.

Oksana leans to her. "You won't go for breakfast with me," she whispers. Eve stares ahead at the slides projected on the large wall of the amphitheatre. She hopes Oksana takes the hint and confronts her during lunch, but Oksana only huffs, readjusting in her chair like a child. Her boot comes up onto her seat and she hugs her knee to her chest. "Why won't you go for breakfast with me?"

"Shh."

" _Eve_."

Eve drops her pen and slumps back. "I didn't say that."

"Yes you did. In the lift. Now I have to bring you pastries."

Eve's mouth twitches but she bites her cheek, struggling not to smile at the petulant shake in Oksana's voice. "You haven't asked me since."

Oksana seems to deliberate this for a moment, twisting her own pen between her fingers thoughtfully, then scribbling in frustration at the top corner of her notebook. "I want to have breakfast with you. I know a very nice place."

"What is it with you and breakfast?"

Konstantin glares at them both. It tickles Eve, the way Oksana sticks her tongue out at him, then proceeds to give her undivided attention.

"It is the most important meal of the day."

"I don't eat breakfast."

"Sure you do," she pinches Eve's pain au chocolat and sneaks a bite, "see? It will be fun."

Oksana's persistence is unwavering. Eve finally turns to look at her in her teal cashmere jumper and pale winter skin. "And what about Konstantin?"

An eye roll. "He can come. But he will want to ski. Do you like to ski?"

That was a disaster waiting to happen.

Eve hadn't skied since childhood, not that she'd been half-bad at it. She'd spent the majority of her winters away from Conneticut and up in Canada with her cousins, learning to tame the red runs at ski-school and a couple of diamonds with her family later in her teens. Somehow she'd managed to come out of it unscathed and with some good memories.

Her favourite part had always been the lazy evenings though, circled around the fireplace with steaming mugs of hot chocolate, smores and best of all, warm feet clad in woolly socks instead of painful ski-shoes (the main deterrant to her skiing almost two decades on).

Oksana would be good at it, Eve knew. She'd grown up in Russia and then Paris- the Alps were probably a second home to her.

She tucks her cold hands across her desk space and nods. "Haven't for a long time."

"It is settled then," Oksana smiles, "We will feed you. And then we will go on the slopes, okay?"

 _Haven't for a long time_ had definitely not been a _yes,_ but Oksana looks at her with so much hope and enthusiasm, Eve hates herself when she finds herself nodding.

"Don't be nervous, Eve," Oksana's voice drops, eyes softening as she reaches over and squeezes warm fingers over Eve's own, "I'll look after you. It's going to be amazing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	17. Chapter 17

//

Oksana comes to her room early the next morning. She brings no food this time, only two take-away cups Eve wishes were both for her. The hot scent of coffee lures her out of bed and Oksana laughs at her, sprawling on the leather chair in the corner of the room as she waits for her to finish stumbling about and throw on some clothes.

"Konstantin's going to buy the ski passes. He will meet us for breakfast."

Eve grunts, taking the drink gratefully, savouring the bitterness that starts to permeate through her before she's finally ready to talk.

"You are not a morning person."

She nods. "No."

"You are very grumpy," Oksana teases.

Eve frowns over the rim. Oksana has ski-wear on - all-black trousers and jacket, her goggles loose around her neck. There's a pink helmet by her feet and another blue one Eve assumes is for her.

"What happened to being nice?"

"Hmm," Oksana stands, handing over the spare helmet. "Grumpy is not bad. You are cute when you are grumpy," she bites her lip.

Eve lets herself be looked at, lets Oksana's eyes pass over her untamed hair and then her white t-shirt and thermals.

"There are rentals at the ski shop - we will get you a _skafandr_."

"A what?"

"You know - " Oksana motions up and down her body with her hands, "- how do you say it in English?"

"A - suit?"

"Yes. Like an astronaut."

"A one-piece," Eve scoffs, finishing her Americano, "I'm good."

"You will like Konstantin's. They are very popular in Russia," she wiggles her eyebrows, telling Eve about her breakfast plans of fresh baguette and more coffee (they eat outside under the bright morning sun and Eve ends up staring at Oksana's nose and cheeks, flushed pink with the wind) before they meet Konstantin at the Alpe D'Huez visitation centre.

For once, Eve doesn't think about work or home or anything at all except how lucky they are that the weather changed and left a fresh pile of snow just for them.

Konstantin's one-piece is something else. Eve blinks at it and tries to keep her gaping mouth in check when she sees it. She hears Oksana cackle next to her once she's slotted herself into her skis. 

"You are very _sexy_ , Konstantin."

He leans on his poles. Eve dares to ask if she could take a photo to send to Bill and Jess, delighted when he agrees and delighted even more when her friends reply in stitches and with dozens more baby photos.

Eve figures Konstantin's probably not updated his suit since the eighties. It has neon triangles of various colours on it against a stark, white background. There is a sort-of belt at his round waist which Eve finds hilarious and to top off the look, he wears a white lipstick which Eve assumes is SPF, though she won't ask. He doesn't wear a helmet because - well, why would he? Somehow, he still manages to look like someone Eve wouldn't want to fuck with, so she lets it go.

"Eve, you are ready?"

She glances down at herself and nods. "I guess so."

"We will take it easy on you," he chuckles. Oksana gives her a meaningful look, one as if to say, _I'm here, nothing's going to happen to you_. It's a little patronising because Eve knows what she's doing, but she is slightly nervous so it does helps, a little. She offers Oksana an appreciative smile.

They share the chair-lift up to the first run.

There's a long, leisurely blue waiting to ease them into things and allow Eve's joints time to refamiliarise themselves with the twisting movements, her knees aching under the strain.

She forgets about her discomfort quickly enough, the high sun beating across her already crimson cheeks and lulling her into enjoying the views, the rows of frosted pines that line the slopes, the skiers and boarders like ants in the distance.

She keeps up with Oksana easily, though she knows Oksana would go much faster were she on her own. On the red runs, Oksana stays close to her, skiing beside her when they reach the moguls and she feels her legs almost give under her.

Konstantin doesn't wait for them, not that she minds. She likes the solitude and the occasional pit-stop with Oksana, who says nice things, like, _you are full of surprises_ and _you look good in blue, Eve_ and _I'm hungry, is it time for lunch?_

When she finally finds herself too tired to go on, she doesn't dare say anything. Oksana somehow still manages to pick up on it, meeting her at the lifts and sending sprays of snow shooting towards her as she makes a sharp turn to stop. 

"One more?" She offers.

"No," Oksana says gently, unclicking her boots from their skis and waddling over to help her out of her own. "I'm tired."

"Don't lie."

She watches Oksana's pink mouth curl knowingly over the wool of her scarf. She has the sharp, unexpected ache of wondering what her eyes look like.

"Not a lie. Just hungry. Here," Oksana unzips a Snickers from her pocket and halves it, shoving her share in her mouth and then pulling her goggles onto her head.

She looks young - there are red lines streaked across the apples of her cheeks and a faint pale glow where the sun couldn't get at her. Small fly-aways peak under the shine of her helmet. Eve counts four before she's interrupted by the crunch of snow that comes with Oksana stabbing their pairs of skis into the ground. "Konstantin will meet us for food. Are you cold?"

"I've been cold since we got here."

Oksana laughs, curling a careful, gloved hand around her forearm. Eve lets her. "Come on. You know what will warm you up? Cold beer. And pizza. A lot of pizza."

They spend way more time over lunch than they probably should, considering they'd shelled out hundreds of euros to attend a conference they weren't actually attending, in order to ski when they weren't doing much of that either.

Still, Eve had really missed eating with Konstantin and sharing his big jokes and bigger drinks. She pulls her bowl of soup closer to herself, letting its fumes roll up and into her unzipped jacket.

When he's done with his food, Konstantin lays down enough cash to cover all three of them and slams his elbows on the table, empty pint bracketed between them. 

"You know what we say in Russia, Eve?"

She taps her fingers on the bowl, looking at him dubiously.

His large grin shines inside his beard. "There is nothing worse than a hot beer and a cold woman, right Oksana?"

Oksana shifts beside him. She looks at Eve across the table apologetically, eyes unwavering as she kicks him. "You are a pig."

"It is just a proverb. But - a true one."

Something in Oksana shifts. Eve sees the change, the playful clarity in Oksana's irises, the gleam of her teeth inside a careful mouth, the flex of her fingers around the wet glass of her drink.

"You should spend more time with us, Konstantin. We will teach you to respect women."

He shushes her. "Of course I respect women. I have a daughter. And a wife."

Oksana turns to him. Eve watches the outline of her soft profile, the way her hair falls around her loosened scarf, blonde and down for the first time since they met. It suits her.

"There is nothing wrong with a cold woman, hmm?"

Eve tenses in her seat even though the way Oksana says it is light, and filled with casual disinterest.

She fiddles with the zipper of her jacket, sliding it all the way up to convey that she'd rather be anywhere else than finishing the rest of that conversation.

Konstantin hums, taking the hint. He ruffles Oksana's hair before he stands. "Cold women or not, there is always room for cold on the mountain."

He shoots off as soon as they're out of the cafe-bar, heading for the only diamond run on the resort with a parting promise to meet with them for après-ski to celebrate their last night.

"Do you want to do another?" Oksana asks her once they're all set. If she was being honest, Eve wanted nothing more than to rid herself of her outerwear, find the nearest hot-tub and vegitate for the rest of the evening.

The afternoon had already begun to grow dark and cold and the sky had started to turn that concrete way that meant it would probably snow soon.

She must hesitate for too long because Oksana slides over to check on her.

"Are you okay?"

She squints up into the mountains. Her knees creak beneath her. "Yeah," she says, curling her cold toes in her shoes, "Just - yeah. Maybe one more - And then, uh..."

Oksana nods her head quickly. She lifts her hand like she might touch Eve's face, like she really wants to, but she doesn't, fingers hovering uncertainly in mid-air and then reaching for her poles.

The near-miss feels too much like an _almost_.

Eve thinks about it on the lift. She thinks about whether she would've let Oksana touch her had she tried. She thinks about it all the way to the top of the black run, the easiest one they could find - nice and short and mostly free of ice.

She lets Oksana go in front of her so she can take her own time on the descent.

It also means she gets to watch Oksana and how effortlessly she moves - fast and clean and elegant, the end of her tucked-in scarf blowing behind her, her long legs parallel and tilted fowards, giving her the speed to toy with the knife-edge of fun and danger, the slim black line of her, straight against the pale backdrop, the sharp zig-zags she leaves in her wake, the crisp _swish-swish_ that follows, left-right, left-right, left -

The cry shatters through the valley.

It ricochets off the cliff face as a canonball of snow erupts just meters from Eve. She quickly skis down towards the pile of limbs where Oksana's buried, wedged between the body on top of her and the hard ground beneath.

" _Pardon!_ " the snowboarder struggles to get off, rolling away and dusting himself down, breathless and apologetic as he looks at Oksana and then up at Eve. " _Ça va?_ "

"What the hell happened? Are you - " Eve reaches down to give Oksana a hand, only to be batted away.

" _Jolie casquette, branleur_ ," Oksana bites, lobbing the boy's hat in his face when he offers his help. He grimaces, scooting away from the pair of them to readjust his snowboard, eyes downcast as Oksana's burn into him. Eve watches him drive off without another word, too embarrassed to stay and listen to Oksana's furious insults. " _Oui! Va te faire enculer! Fils de pute!_ I'm going to kill your whole family!"

Eve would laugh. Of course she would, except Oksana struggles to get up despite trying over and over. There's pure rage on her face but also pain, absolute agony which she fights to stifle even as her eyes begin to water. She's starting to tremble. Maybe the shock's kicking in.

"Oksana - "

"It was _his_ fault."

"I know," Eve soothes, abandoning her own skis and kneeling down to help her unfasten herself. "Where does it hurt?"

"It doesn't hurt."

"Oksana," she whispers carefully, as if talking to a wounded animal. She reaches for her legs, straightening the right and then trying the same with the left.

Oksana shoves her. " _Der'mo!_ "

"How many languages are you going to swear in?"

"It _hurts. Ow,_ Eve."

The knee stays bent. Eve prods around the joint lightly, watching tears brim in Oksana's glassy eyes. It's swollen.

Eve can feel its heat even under the sturdy material of Oksana's waterproof trousers. Something was wrong, she was certain. Oksana wasn't one to cry.

She uses all her strength to heave Oksana into a standing position as she sobs, taking the brunt of her body weight in her arms. "Put your weight on both legs."

Oksana does as she's told, and then there's another heart-stopping cry as she crumples against Eve's chest.

That confirmed it - the thing Eve had been scared of all along: Oksana had either torn a ligament or fractured something. Eve was obviously equipped to deal with both, but not in a foreign country, 2500 meters above sea.


	18. Chapter 18

//

Oksana is not a good patient.

Eve had expected as much, but when she comes to the ward after breakfast on a Sunday and realises Oksana's already unleashed hell on everyone else, she knows she has a tough day ahead of her.

She pulls Oksana's pre-op notes out of the cabinet and takes Kenny with her.

"Good morning."

Oksana sits on the chair beside her hospital bed, seemingly engaged in a stare-down with the elderly patient opposite her. She doesn't answer.

Eve laughs, giving Kenny an apologetic look.

He's got the cannula set, ready to pop a drip into Oksana's hand - if she lets him. Eve tries to sweet talk her.

"How are you feeling?"

Oksana's eyes remain glued on the old lady facing her and her frown deepens. "She is faking it. Right? She is definitely faking it."

Eve tugs the paper curtain around the bedside to give them some privacy, then perches herself on Oksana's bed even though she knows she shouldn't.

"Ruth has dementia," she points out gently, grateful when Oksana's face softens into something a little less threatening.

"She has been asking me about Deb. I don't know who that is."

Eve knew the patient well - a senior citizen with advanced Alzheimer's disease, who happened to be one of Eve's current favourites for her hilarious ward-round conversation and shit-talking attitude.

They'd only had a few days to get to know each other since Eve's return from the conference but it was long enough for Eve to fall completely in love with her.

In the week before Oksana's admission to her ward, Eve had managed to do three things:

One - come home to a half-empty house where Niko no longer seemed to live, not a message or a note left in his wake, only the bare bones of a home they'd shared now void of plants or knick-knacks or collections of vinyl/books/DVDs Eve knew she'd never miss. She'd been left in a state of limbo, not that the last decade of her marriage hadn't done the same.

Two - organise an urgent out-of-hours MRI for Oksana, and then bed space (with Kenny's generous help) and a theatre slot on a weekend (thanks to Konstantin, who was always going to be the anaesthetist).

Three - visit Bill and Jess' babies (two birds, one stone) at Elena's flat where she'd cooked for them all, and Eve had proceeded to stare at the sweet, wrinkled bundles in her arms and think of Oksana and her amusing albeit somewhat exaggerated distaste for children.

She leans forward and motions to Oksana's knee. Oksana lifts her leg off the floor as much as she is able, wincing and jerking in her seat as Eve prods gently to make sure the initial swelling has gone down.

"You put me in a bay."

Eve shrugs, glancing quickly to her frustrated pout before using the marker to draw an arrow pointing to her injury. She's careful to pinch at the tip so her knuckles don't graze the downy hairs on Oksana's shin.

She feels sorry for her and how difficult it must have been to shower, let alone shave. She wonders briefly if Oksana might have stayed with Konstantin after France. She doesn't ask.

"There were no side rooms - "

"I did try," Kenny mumbles. He stands awkwardly just feet from Eve, unsure what to do with his tray.

"It is _very_ boring here," Oksana snaps.

"You've only been here a night," Eve laughs again, "besides, we'll be getting rid of you tomorrow, so..."

Oksana's eyes widen comically at this, as if trully offended, and she gasps, "You don't like being my doctor?"

"Not when you don't behave."

"I am behaving," she tips her chin up in defiance. "I have been good! Promise."

Kenny looks pointedly to Eve, lips pursed in disapproval.

"Alright," Eve rubs her chin, then moves to give Kenny space. "We need to cannulate you."

Oksana scoffs. Her hands fly into her lap. "No. Konstantin will do it. In theatre."

"But -"

"Really?"

Oksana doesn't budge. Eve lets out a long sigh. "Fine. It's okay," she touches Kenny's shoulder, "go," she nods towards the curtains, "and Kenny?"

She can hear him shuffle on the spot.

"Thank you."

"Yes, thank you, Kenny," Oksana says sweetly, a genuine smile tugging at her eyes and then dropping as soon as Kenny's out of sight. She turns to Eve.

"You know - he is very _rude,_ actually. He didn't let me have any breakfast."

"Nil by mouth. Remember?"

Oksana slumps in her chair. The too-big collar of her loose hospital gown swallows her up at the neck. There are goosebumps on her arms. Eve doesn't think about the fact that beneath the gown, there is only skin. She doesn't think about Oksana's bare legs, about the fact that she'll have to practically man-handle them whilst Oksana's unconscious on the table.

"You are always so mean to me, Eve."

Eve blinks herself back to reality. "Because I'm going to fix your ACL and get you back on your feet?" she raises a brow, smirking when Oksana rolls her eyes and then brightens with a fresh idea.

"You can make it up to me."

" _I_ , can make it up to _you_?"

"Yes. After. With food. But not hospital food, okay? _Oh_!" she sits up, excited, "Cake - you could bring me cake."

Eve finally stands, fishing her theatre hat out of her scrub pocket and untying its back. "Don't test me, Oksana," she says but it's playful and light and Oksana's eyes go just a shade darker, dark enough so Eve can't quite get a read. She catches the careful parting of her mouth just as she turns to leave.

"Eve?"

"Yeah."

"You will be gentle with me?"

Eve knew Oksana was fearless - when awake. So it came as a surprise to see her anything but. In fairness, she was going to have Oksana's life quite literally in her hands (as trivial and quick as the surgery was) - maybe it did warrant some hesitation on her part.

Oksana's voice wavers just a little, toeing the line between nervousness and flirtation and Eve steps to her, kneeling beside the crutches resting against the chair, so they're eye-level.

Oksana sits forward, eyes wide and hopeful.

"I'll be using a hammer, drill...maybe a saw - if things get _really_ out of hand."

That gets her a dead-pan look.

Eve sobers, brushing soft fingertips across the inside of Oksana's wrist.

"You have nothing to worry about. All in all, I probably owe you one, don't you think? I'll see you when you wake up. Alright?"

There's a moment - brief and heavy, where Oksana nods, bottom lip chewed between her teeth as her eyes travel over Eve's, checking for any uncertainty there.

Eve projects nothing but unwavering confidence.

She was the best at what she did. And she found that when she really cared about something, she was even better.

Both her and Konstantin stay to watch Oksana wake up in the recovery room.

He leans on the bed railing, one large hand on the crown of Oksana's head, thumb stroking against her forehead, and the other by Oksana's forearm. Eve watches them.

"You really care about her," she says, barely above a whisper. Konstantin looks up at her.

"Yes."

All Eve can do is nod. She wants to ask, _why?_ but the question sort of answers itself.

As it turned out, there were a lot of likeable things about Oksana. She doesn't dwell on them though - she could do that in her own time - just acknowledges that they exist and lets the thought escape like a stray balloon.

She looks to Oksana's drowsy face. Her eyes hadn't opened yet. Her mouth is dry from where the tube had been and there are bags under her eyes - sharing a bay with dementia patients usually meant a noisy, restless night.

She reaches over and tucks hair behind Oksana's ear. Konstantin's eyes follow as she does it.

"She likes you."

Eve swallows hard and quick. "Sorry?"

Konstantin chuckles. He looks like he might elaborate when Oksana stirs, her groan low and rough, eyes fighting against the fluorescent hospital lights. Eve's heart sinks a little at the interruption. She watches Oksana mumble incoherently in what she recognises as Russian, and then -

" _Eve_."

Her head snaps to the side. Oksana's looking at her blearily.

"I am going to kill you."

She cringes.

" _Ow_."

"She is a big baby," Konstantin says loudly enough to pierce through Oksana's foggy state and earn him a miserable glare. "I will give you the good drugs.

"Give me," Oksana moans. "Is it a big scar?" she frowns, looking down at herself.

"Three small ones - a centimetre each," Eve says, explaining that they'd gone via keyhole so recovery would be relatively straight forward.

"That is good. I don't want a big one. I have very nice legs."

Konstantin and Eve both stare at each other. He winks, then hands her the drug chart to check she's happy with everything.

The operation couldn't have gone better, not that Eve had any doubts.

All that was left now was the long slog of a recovery: crutches for Christmas and New Year (Eve's gift to her for the holidays), then months of physiotherapy and if she was lucky, back to normal by the summer. 

Eve decides that conversation was best left for the morning, in the light of day, when they were both conscious and fed and patient with each other.

Besides, she was going to help. And so was Konstantin. It would give her a chance to make up for all the times she'd been a stubborn asshole and honestly, she was really looking forward to redeeming herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	19. Chapter 19

//

"How're you holding up?"

Oksana looks up from her bed. There's colour flushed high on her cheeks and her eyes are back to that wide, alert way Eve had grown to like. She wears pyjamas this time - a silk button-down with matching black pants, half-covered by the textbook and notes in her lap.

"Not up - just horizontal."

Eve leans on the tray table, peering to see what she's been working on. Her head almost bounces off the pair of pink balloons tied to the side of Oksana's bed. There's a mountain of snacks all around her. She sneaks a Haribo and earns herself a frown.

"That is mine."

"Sure is," Eve smiles, taking another. "Are you studying?"

There's a big, dramatic sigh, as if Eve's somehow wasting their time together, and then Oksana slams her textbook shut and gives Eve a bored but playful look. "Yes. My exam is next year. They are not letting me work until I can walk so - " she shrugs.

"You thought you'd start early."

"Sure."

"Smart," Eve nods, impressed. She toys with the idea of stealing another sweet, except she'd been planning on keeping her promise to bring Oksana cake (and finish the rest of the ward round), so she flicks at a balloon and watches it almost hit Oksana in the face. She fights not to laugh.

Oksana stretches in her bed. She considers Eve for a moment, then bats her eyelashes. "I am vulnerable."

"Mhmm. You're really milking it, aren't you?"

Oksana smiles innocently. "What - this?" she appraises the snacks she's amassed. There are at least three packets of biscuits, a tube of Pringles and a box of something home-made Eve's desparate to open and sniff.

Instead she moves to check over Oksana's knee and explain the physiotherapist would be around to see her in a bit, much to her dismay.

"I will get a private physio. Not the shitty NHS one."

"Of course you will," Eve rolls down the leg of her pyjamas and pats her shin, her palm warm but friendly as it rests there. "Who are the balloons from?"

"Irina," she huffs. "There were no stickers at the store." She almost looks genuinely heartbroken. Eve stares at her, bemused and charmed.

"Oh yeah?"

"She's going to visit me later."

The thought of meeting Irina excited Eve. She was also a little curious to see the two interact - she had no doubt Irina would give as good as she got.

She makes a mental note to finish the ward round before visiting hours so she might get a chance to stop by again. She'd delegate the ward jobs to Hugo once he got back from teaching. Maybe Kenny would step in to help too.

"I'll try to stop by a little later then," she explains, gathering her ward notes as she tugs the paper curtain back around. Ruth had been discharged the previous evening - Eve was somewhat relieved to find Oksana no longer had an arch nemesis.

Oksana calls on her. "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why will you come again later? You've already seen me."

Eve blows air through her pursed lips, shrugging. Because she wanted to? Would that be good enough of an answer? Because Oksana had become her private patient of sorts? She tries for a different tactic and finds herself clutching her file to her chest.

"You don't want me to?"

" _Yes_!" Oksana practically shouts, then readjusts in her seat, "Yes," she says, softer this time, trying for indifference except for the glimmer in her eye that flusters Eve and floods her with something warm and confident and chaotic. "I will see you later."

"Someone's got to check you haven't murdered Hugo - or anyone else," Eve winks, the corner of her mouth curved in a smile as she steps away in time to see the physio, in his white polo t-shirt, waiting for his next victim. Oksana would have a field day with him.

That afternoon on her way back to the bay, Eve bumps into Hugo. He smiles at her in a hurry, the spring in his step making his stethoscope sway around his neck. She grabs him.

It had been just over a week since she'd seen him and so far, she hadn't heard of any mishaps in her absence. Maybe he was getting better at things. Or keeping a low profile. Either way, Eve had been glad. She was horrified to find that she would miss him come January, when poor Bill inherited him on his next rotation.

"What's the -" she motions to his general demeanor, "about?"

He wriggles his eyebrows. His cheek dimples. "I just took blood. From _Oksana_ ," he whispers mysteriously. Eve panics. "Yeah. I got it on the first try but I gave it a good rummage. Almost worth the death threat," he grins proudly, waving a full tube in front of Eve's face, "karma is a beautiful thing."

Months ago, Eve might have reveled in the small victory with him. She finds herself feeling different now, mainly hot and guilty.

"Take it easy on her," she says softly, squeezing his shoulder and ignoring the indignant look he gives her. "She's had a rough week," she adds, nodding him away, grateful when he leaves her, baffled but without so much as another word.

When she finds Oksana, she's in the chair this time and there's a child in her bed - scrawny and grinning, with untamed hair and dirty boots on the linen.

"Shoes off."

Irina's eyes snap to hers, fearful initially and then softening as she realises who Eve is, because Oksana tells her.

"That's Eve, the big boss."

Eve laughs, dropping a couple of stickers she'd snuck from the pediatric wing onto the tray table and handing Oksana the brownie she'd bought from Costa.

Irina raises her eyebrow exactly the way Konstantin would. Eve almost does a double-take.

"You are the big boss? Because - well - it kind of looks like..." she stares pointedly at the stickers and at Oksana's dessert and that really makes Eve laugh, because clearly this kid had balls and clearly she'd inherited them from her father.

Eve hums. "I like to give her a false sense of security."

She catches Oksana's eye. There's mirth there, the greens of Oksana's irises darker and shinier than they usually were. Eve clears her throat. "Listen, I need a tip."

Oksana winks at Irina as if to say, _See? I'm really the boss_ but Eve lets it slide because she really does need help. Somewhere along the way, she'd learned not to let her pride get the best of her so much. "Tell me."

"We have an opioid addict on the ward - can't get good pain relief. What do I give him?"

Oksana thinks about it for a few minutes. Irina watches her with a great deal of interest, almost reverently so - it makes Eve wonder just how much Oksana had lied when she'd said they didn't get along.

"Butrans patch. Slow release. Morphine for breakthrough. Refer to pain team and Konstantin can see in clinic."

"Patch," Eve nods. Of course. Why hadn't she thought of that? She sucks her cheeks into her mouth, then runs her tongue over her teeth and points towards the stickers. "Think you've earned that, then."

Oksana's about to say something, Eve can tell from her arrogant, secret smile, and then -

"Are you my dad's best friend?"

Eve grimaces. "What?"

Irina pushes her asymmetrical fringe out of her eyes and kicks her feet out from the side of the bed, almost colliding with Oksana's knee in her haste.

"He said you are."

Eve had known Konstantin longer than she'd known a lot of people. She wouldn't call him her best friend - he was more like a father-figure and she loved him, absolutely, but she also disliked him sometimes, intensely, and that often proved problematic.

"We're very good friends."

"So you are coming to our New Year party?"

Konstantin had told her about it during the surgery.

He’d been planning a small get-together in his flat and he’d wanted Eve to come. She’d been weary to tell him about Niko though he seemed to pick up on that debacle all by himself, inviting only her and persuading her with the promise of booze and food and obscure Russian party games she half-dreaded and half looked forward to.

“Sounds fun. I already told your dad I'd be there.”

Irina’s grin widens and she glances at Oksana sneakily.

“Good, because Oksana - ”

“Shut up,” Oksana growls, eyes snapping up to Eve’s to gauge her reaction. Irina plods on, regardless.

“She really wants you to come. You should come because I want to be a doctor and -”

“I thought you wanted to be an interpreter?” Oksana bites again, the word fat and clumsy in her mouth. Eve thinks it sweet. The back-forth between them amuses her, even as she waits for Irina to continue.

“Yes. But I also want to be a doctor. A brain surgeon.”

“I heard you’re good at languages," Eve says but looks to Oksana gently, watching her squirm in her seat as far as her knee will allow. Her cheeks have turned crimson though her eyes remain distant and disapproving.

“Yes, Oksana has been helping me with - ”

“Shut up your tiny stinking ass.”

“I know,” Eve cuts their bickering. “Oksana’s pretty good too, isn't she?” This makes Oksana preen despite herself, her shoulders straightening a little with pride that Eve would find predictable if it weren’t for her quirked, sheepish, lovely mouth.

Irina stands from her place on the bed and grabs a couple of biscuits off the table. “ _O_ -kay then. Maybe we can watch a movie. My dad lets me stay up all night on New Year. I’m not allowed to watch grown-up ones but Oksana let me watch Kill Bill one time and - ”

“Enough,” Oksana yells, reaching to smack Irina who dodges out of her reach. “Go away already!”

Irina raises an eyebrow at Eve, hand on her hip to indicate that perhaps they were the adults and Oksana was the petulant child they’d been tasked to deal with. Eve already knew that.

“I’ll see you on the thirty-first,” she smiles, accepting the high-five tossed her way before Irina sticks her tongue out at Oksana, blows a quick raspberry and wonders off with a biscuit crammed in her mouth, in search of her father.

“You’ve got a handful.”

Oksana stares blankly ahead.

“I told you she was the worst.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two parter

//

_a)_

She volunteers to take the on-call on Christmas Day.

Her colleagues had kids and it only seemed fair, now that she was child-less and from the looks of things, husband-less. It's a night-shift, so she stays in bed until mid-afternoon, eating cereal straight from the box and toying with the idea of taking Elena up on her offer of horrible Chinese food and a half-hearted gift exchange before work. She'd already bailed on New Year's Eve - two three-hundred-and-something-pound tickets to one of London's coveted sky bars and the gut-churning prospect of kissing a total stranger as the clock struck midnight.

She stares down at the empty thread on her Whasapp. A tentative, courteous _Merry Christmas_ to Niko, who hadn't bothered to reply, the tiny blue tick in the corner staring up at her mockingly. She figured she deserved it.

She wondered if he'd chosen to spend the day with friends, colleagues maybe, maybe someone new in his life that had crept up and managed to flood him with kindness where Eve had only given him pain. The thought of him with another woman comforted her. He wasn't lonely (she hoped). And she didn't feel so either though she was alone, and the bed certainly felt bigger without him there. She star-fishes across it greedily and stuffs another handful of Cheerios in her mouth. Her wedding band lays, untouched, on the nightstand.

In the middle of the night (or was it morning?) as she's scrubbing out of her gown and getting ready for the next surgery, her phone flashes next to her bleep. Mariah Carey continues to blare from the communal radio.

Unknown:

_Hello._

Eve stuffs her bloodied gear into the nearest bin and gives the message her fullest attention.

Me:

 _Who is this?_

Unknown:

_Rude, Eve._

Eve's entire body sparks with energy, like a shot of caffeine she'd been craving, but quicker, and better. She'd been nearing her wit's end, bent over the operating table.

Me:

_Isn't it rude to take people's numbers and then bombard them at 4 in the morning?_

Unknown:

_HAHA. It is not bombarding. It is a friendly hello._

Me:

_Shouldn't you be doing physio or, I don't know...sleeping?_

There's no response for several minutes. Eve thinks that maybe she'd said the wrong thing, maybe she'd been too sharp, too cranky in her exhaustion when -

Unknown:

_I could say the same for you, no?_

She fires off a quick but reluctant explanation that she's actually at work, though a big part of her thinks she should've lied and said she's out with Elena, getting hammered, or over at Bill's, helping with the baby, or even with Konstantin, sharing a night-cap, except Oksana probably _is_ with Konstantin and she'd never live down getting caught out.

Unknown:

_What about your moustache husband?_

Me:

_What?_

Unknown:

_You know, the moustache. You are married to him? He is your phone background Eve, I am quite observant._

Eve slumps against the metallic hand-washing trough. For all the times she'd left her belongings lying around the ward, she's not the least bit surprised Oksana had at some point caught a glimpse of her display screen, different as it was now. Still, she couldn't do this. Not over messenger. Not at the arse-crack of dawn. She bites back a moody reply and takes a deep, steadying breath.

Me:

_How did you get my number?_

Unknown:

_You are changing the subject. And I am a very good detective, also._

Me:

_If you're with Konstantin, tell him I'm going to choke him into next week._

Unknown:

_HAHA Eve. You are funny. Have breakfast with me again._

The letters glare at her. She blinks once. Twice to make sure they're real. Her instinct tells her to shut this down - just because she can - but she wants to, she'd love nothing more, as much as the thought reverberates nervously through her, to finish her shift and go to a cafe, or Whetherspoons or even Oksana's own place, and be greeted by something greasy and sugary enough to make her forget this day ever happened.

Me:

_Haven't we already done that?_

And finally, she changes _Unknown_ to _Oksana_ and everything suddenly feels warmer, more familiar, just like it had in France.

Oksana:

_I think you will be hungry. I like spending time with you. I like the way you eat. I am an excellent cook. Do you need more reasons?_

Eve laughs. Her cheeks prickle with heat. Her neck does the same. It was just breakfast - they'd had a great one on the mountain. They'd even shared a brownie. It was only food and good company and time not spent alone, which for Eve, especially after a night-shift, could often be a mine-field.

Me:

_No, those are plenty._

Oksana:

_I will make something delicious. And send you my address in the morning. See you soon._

There's a disarming _x_ at the end, and then a row of emojis, ranging from a sleepy-smiley to a moon to a croissant and a coffee-cup and an inexplicable flamenco-dancer that makes Eve laugh again.

She stashes her phone into her handbag and feels her joints crack as she stretches, a small but satisfied smile creeping onto her mouth even as the scrub nurse tells her two more trauma cases have been added to the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	21. Chapter 21

_b)_

Oksana lives in Shoreditch, because, why wouldn't she?

It's a bit of a ride to get all the way across town but Eve manages, rehabilitation knee ice-cuff in one hand, and then when she spots a mid-week flower stall, a houseplant in the other. _Blondie_ floods the corridor as soon as the lift doors open for her, making it easy to guess which flat is Oksana's.

Her knock gets swallowed by the heavy guitar riffs so she fumbles to shift the weight of her gifts, and lets herself in, cautious to find what waits for her inside.

There's a familiar smell of burning fat and coffee. They fill Eve with warmth, make her itch to shrug off her hat, scarf and gloves. She has little time to take in her surroundings before she sees Oksana in her open-plan kitchen, hair piled high, floor-length kimono shimmying as she moves to the beat, stirring something here and sticking her fingers in something else there. She does it less elegantly than Eve would expect, crutches resting beside the microwave - a reminder that she still had a long way to go.

Eve reaches for the volume button on the hi-fi system and watches Oksana snap around, eyes wide and knife fisted in mid-air. The melodrama of it makes her laugh.

"You know you're so getting burgled one day."

Oksana grins. She scoops her crutches and hops over, greeting her with a soft, excited _Hello, you made it, you must be very cold_ and an offer to take her things, though Eve chooses to place her arm-full on the coffee table, then shed her winter-wear and boots herself. The heating's on full blast.

"Blondie?"

Oksana ignores the incredulous comment and eyes Eve's plant and then the ice-cuff. The former is a small pilea - a Chinese money plant meant to bring good fortune, though from the looks of the apartment, Eve figured Oksana wouldn't need it. She explains, sheepish as she feels, that both are belated Christmas presents of sorts, last-minute things she'd picked up in her sleepy haste to leave her shift - things that reminded her of Oksana. She feels a sudden urge to apologise, to rewind and pick up wine and chocolate, something lavish and festive and celebratory.

Oksana watches her, amused, and then shushes her with a genuinely appreciative _thank you_ and an ushering towards the kitchen where more plants sit - littered along the window sill and on top of the fridge. They stir something tender in Eve. She hadn't expected Oksana to have a nurturing streak and it secretly delights her to find one there.

"I hope you are very hungry. I made sausage - the Russian way," she points towards the sizzling pan, "and also pancakes - the American way." Here, she grimaces, making a soft, gagging sound Eve almost sees coming. She knew there would be snobbery for Parisian crepes.

There are eggs too, and coffee and juice and winter fruits which catch Eve's attention after a night of grazing on junk-food only.

Her eyes follow Oksana's as they search for approval, her body bracketed between the crutches. She feels horribly guilty for the fact Oksana had gone to so much trouble for her, prioritising her over physio or a nap on her sinfully inviting sofa.

"You really didn't need to," she brushes a quick hand over Oksana's crutch and elbow, squeezing the soft silk there in a gesture of thanks. She doesn't let her eyes wonder over the gold chain around Oksana's bare neck, the entirely inappropriate cleavage beneath it, the tie around her slim waist, her legs. She swallows and pushes her curls out of her eyes. "Not that it doesn't look absolutely - _amazing_ , God, I can't tell you how many KitKats I had last night - I was actually going to pop by Sainsbury's after work but they had late opening hours and I meant to bring -"

"You are babbling, Eve," Oksana thrusts a mug at her, hot and extremely caffeinated. Eve tries for a helpless smile and gulps down as much as her burnt mouth will allow. "Help me with the food."

She insists on propping Oksana at the dining table and setting it herself (with direction on which drawers hosted which bits and a rapid back-and-forth about being put to work even though she'd just spent twelve hours, _on Christmas,_ having her arse handed to her). She feels that fluttering, twisted feeling in the pit of her stomach as she finally sits across from Oksana and grabs a nervous breath.

"I like that you came."

Eve drums her fingers on her mug. "I like your place."

Oksana tells her about it - a single-bed top floor warehouse conversion in the heart of London's tech hub. Brick Lane was just around the corner, and Oksana was just far enough from the hustle and bustle of obnoxious inner-city hipsters.

"I am friends with the woman who owns Dark Sugars."

Eve concentrates, spearing a sausage, grateful to have Oksana talk at her for a while. She'd suddenly found sentences hard to string, between the anticipation of their meeting and the overwhelming, delicious attack on all her senses as her food sat in front of her. She briefly catches something about the Ghanaian history of Dark Sugars and about the woman who worked there, about Oksana's familiarity with her - a fleeting comment about her skin matching Oksana's favourite hand-made truffles there - and the subsequent discount she'd been given. Eve's chest clenches for a long, dragging minute before Oksana motions to the translucent plastic pack of artisan chocolates on the coffee table and forces her to chew back whatever had threatened to burble out. "I think you will like them. We can share later."

"Alright," she says clumsily. The sausage is covered in something sweet, maybe honey, and she swallows her mouthful in three chews. "This is - _mmh_." Her voice shakes.

"I told you," Oksana wiggles her eyebrows at her, "I am fantastic in the kitchen."

"Maybe I'm just _that_ hungry."

" _Maybe_ ," Oksana smirks, shovelling her own breakfast in gracelessly. "I knew food was the way to your heart, Eve." Except that wasn't a _maybe_ at all, because the food is impeccable, down to the shape of Oksana's pancakes and her choice in coffee and taste in gorgeous ceramic tableware she'd chosen to present them on. She picks up on Eve's hesitation and moves on. "How was your shift?"

Eve watches her lean her elbow on the table, chin in her hand, ready to listen. It's intimidating and sweet - she struggles to remember the last time someone took genuine interest in her day, Bill and Elena pub sessions aside.

She talks about her long theatre list but skips out the part about Oksana's messages, about how quickly they'd made time go, the hours sliding by unnoticed, the workload easing like water down a drain. Before she'd known it, she was practically skipping out of the hospital, completely unphased by the packed overground ride to East London. "D'you manage to get some sleep?"

Oksana looks at her like she's grown a second head. "I used my exercise bike. Stretched. Studied. Waited for my food delivery - it is very _shitty_ not being able to shop. And then - here you are."

Eve frowns. "You're insane -"

"Oh don't look so worried. I am an adult." She pushes a heaped fork into her mouth and rolls her eyes for dramatic effect, easing Eve back into her chair.

"Uh-huh. And what about the whole, ' _Ow_ , _Eve, it hurts'_ ," Eve pouts, mimicking Oksana's post-op state and how many pain killers she'd needed.

"Well if you did a better job - "

"If you weren't so _difficult_ all the time - "

" _I,_ am difficult!" Oksana laughs, using her good leg to kick Eve under the table. Eve kicks back.

"You're a brat," she teases. With the table's jostling, the coffee spills out of Oksana's mug and Eve stares at it pointedly.

" _No_. What do you say here - _It takes one to know one_ ," she says in perfect Queen's English, "and I definitely -"

"You're spoiled," Eve says, softer this time and through a small but comfortable smile that Oksana mirrors. There's a long, drawn-out moment filled by the drone of the TV behind them, where Oksana looks at her with those darkened hazel eyes.

"Careful how you talk to me, Eve. I like you -"

Eve shoves her tongue into her molar, poking at it until it stabs.

"But I don't like you _that_ much," Oksana lies. "And _also_ \- _you_ spoil me. It is your own fault." It's teasing and an almost-challenge, and God, Eve _had_ spoiled her the past few days but it felt good, it felt thrilling and gratifying and she wanted to keep doing it, over and over.

She pushes her empty plate away from herself and folds her arms in front of her.

"You really should only be getting coal, if we're going by how nice you've been on the wards."

Oksana hums. "Yes. I am very nice," she pushes out of her chair, missing the reference entirely - much to Eve's amusement - as she hops over to the sofa. "See? I have something for you too."

Eve shakes her head in protest. The gift is wrapped in delicate matte paper, immaculately tied with a silver ribbon that tethers the note tucked in the corner. "You shouldn't - "

" _Eve_ ," Oksana scrapes her chair closer to better watch her open what's inside.

Eve's heart pounds. She could fall apart.

She fingers the edge of the small card, flicking it open.

_Sorry, Baby. x_

She means to laugh but it comes out breathless, a half-gasp, her eyes wandering up to Oksana's own. "For what?"

Oksana taps on the gift, urging her to open it. "You know what, Eve."

If they were going to do this, Eve would need to bury her pride for good.

She lifts her eyes, worrying the rough patch on the inside of her cheek until Oksana laughs at her. And finally, _finally_ -

"Me too."

A big, cumbersome sigh leaves Oksana and she clasps her hands together, looking up to the ceiling in thanks and then signing a cross over her chest. When her little charade is done, she grins at Eve and nudges her to hurry up.

Eve steels herself. For a fleeting moment, she wonders if Oksana might've gotten her a joke gift. Her weary fingers separate the edges of the wrapping paper to uncover a leather-bound tan wallet the size of a large book. It feels warm and smooth beneath her fingertips.

There was no way she would accept this.

"Oksana, I -"

"Because you are very disorganised, you know? You keep forgetting your things, _all_ of the time," Oksana laughs, shattering the devastating ridge Eve had been balancing on.

Eve clutches her present to her chest. The woody smell of leather sits beneath her chin.

"You're a dickhead."

"Hmm," Oksana nods at her, clearly pleased with her reaction, "I know. You tell me again and again. I wanted to get you perfume. There is a beautiful one - from Paris - _Villanelle_ \- but..." she shrugs. The rest of that sentence hangs heavy with intimacy, with implication. Eve wants to pull it out of Oksana and stuff it down all at once.

"This is - I - really apprecate it. Thank you. It's...perfect. I'm a complete fucking scatter-brain. And now I feel like a bit of a wanker for getting you a _house plant_ ," she cringes, "and a knee-cuff, _fucking hell_ -"

Oksana reaches over and squeezes her fingers as they fidget across the table.

"It is very practical. And it is very you," she says calmly but directly, pushing warmth into Eve's hand, between her knuckles and into her bloodstream, "and so I like it, very much."

Instead of pulling free, Eve nods and nods, curling her toes against Oksana's wooden floor and then reaching to place her left hand on top of Oksana's own.

They sit like that in swollen silence, the rain both loud and irrelevant against Oksana's windows. Eve pretends to take no note of Oksana's eyes, the way they linger on her hand, her fingers, like a physical touch, and then she's _being_ touched, in exactly the same places but mostly over her knuckles and then her bare ring-finger and the inside of her wrist.

Reluctantly, Oksana pulls away, tapping on the distressed surface of her dining table and squinting out at the drenched London streets.

"Will you give me something, Eve?"

Eve wraps arms around herself, feeling smaller now that Oksana's touch had gone. "Besides a house plant?" she says weakly.

Oksana smiles, cheeks dimpled. "Will you stay and watch a movie?"

She hadn't expected that. She'd grown lethargic, from the food and a whole night spent awake. She knew she'd pass out the minute she let her guard down, cocooned in a mountain of cushions and Oksana's blankets from _Anthropologie_. The alternative was no contest - Boxing Day spent alone in her draughty house, surrounded by ramen take-outs and IKEA furniture.

She finishes the last of her coffee and gives a tentative nod behind her mug.

"What are we watching?"

Oksana's face lights up. As she stands, Eve helps balance her onto her crutches. "One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nest."

Eve groans. "But that's not festive at _all_."

"No," Oksana says, somber, "No it isn't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two parter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys thank you so much for being so receptive and engaging and enthusiastic, this thing is a blast to write!

//

_a)_

She thinks about it on the ride over to Konstantin's.

The roads remain grid-locked, her Uber bumper-to-bumper with New Year's traffic. She sinks into her parka, her cold feet stiff inside her stilettos, knees bare and jittery. Her driver cranks the heating when she asks, the windows clouding to mar the wet streets beyond.

She'd been exceptionally warm at Oksana's. She'd woken up just past midday, to the sound of closing credits and the heavy weight of blankets and Oksana's feet across her lap.

She'd sat like that for close to an hour, dehydrated and dazed and content, careful not to jostle Oksana's bad knee as she slept on.

The flat had smelt of pine and honey.

Eve had stolen quiet moments to take in the details of Oksana's private life: a mish-mash of beautiful antiques, furniture pieces she wanted to run her hands over and bury her nose in; stacks and stacks of books and vinyl, worn and nestled beneath the Danish TV stand; knick-knacks and paintings from China and Hungary and Argentina, but no photographs; scattered sports clothes, a sock, a dress, things Eve caught herself picturing Oksana in, imagining how she might look beyond the confines of her work-wear or a ski-suit.

She'd wondered what Oksana's breakfast looked like most days, whether it was always so lavish, whether she had time in the mornings. Thought about whether her weekends were filled with close friends. Longed to ask about Oksana's family and lackthereof, about her childhood and her time in St Petersburg and Paris and then London and how they'd all made her feel, who she'd met there, who she'd loved and longed for and left behind.

Eve swipes a hand across the perspiring window, blinking herself into reality.

The car pulls to a stop.

She tips her driver and hugs her coat tight against the wet, bonfire wind. When she looks up to Konstantin's bay window, she finds it already occupied, bodies nestled and bustling within.

Something inside her thuds, hot and quick, anxious to spread right through her and swallow her whole. It's a fight to stave it off.

It finally settles, just about, when she's greeted by Konstantin's wife. She finds herself crushed to a plump bossom, the prickling material of Natasha's festive jumper rough against her cheek.

"Welcome," Natasha chuckles the way Konstantin does, delighted when Eve gifts her a bottle of Champagne and something special from the florist.

Eve gets a _bol'shoye spasiba_ which she's quick to respond to, having spent enough time with Konstantin to pick up basic vocabulary. This earns her a kiss to her cheek and then two more as she's quickly ushered inside.

Her coat is barely off before she's being passed to Konstantin, who already entertains the crowd, sleek in a tailored, crisp white shirt and suit trousers. His burly arms engulf her, his hug elevating her off the floor and into the familiar smell of leather and whisky.

"Lovely to see you, Eve, what a splendid dress," Carolyn nods beyond his shoulder. There's a drink already waiting for her on the kitchen island and her boss slides it across politely, smile tight but more sincere (or was it loose?) than Eve was used to.

The first thought she has is this: how long might it take for shit to hit the fan now that Carolyn and Konstantin's wife were sharing the same space? The second and more devastating, is the notion that perhaps Carolyn and Natasha were a lot more familiar than Konstantin let on, in ways Eve fights not to visualise, swallowing down her mortification with a gulp of champagne.

She eyes the apartment briefly, waiting for the bubbles to rise and fill the sudden hollow in her chest. Sober, un-coupled and flanked by a boss she'd describe as prickly at best, did not a fun party make.

She hoped the alcohol might work fast on her empty stomach.

Konstantin leans to her beside the fridge. "We are waiting for some family friends. Then the fun begins."

Eve hums.

He pats her cheek, careful not to smudge her make-up. "How are you?"

She needs a cigarette. And a heater. She pulls a reassuring smile from the depths of herself but it's hardly enough as Konstantin moves to cradle her face and then bring her back into his arms.

"You are with family now. Don't worry about anything else."

Eve thinks he might ask her about Niko but he lets it lie, choosing instead to down his whiskey over a flirty wink.

"I have sent the children to get some things. They should be - "

"No, _you_ shut _up_!" Irina shrieks as she bursts through the front door with heavy bags in her hands, trailed by Oksana who looks like she might use her crutches to inflict physical pain. She's stopped only by the displeased eyes that fall on them, smile innocent as she checks the door closed with her hip. Irina lifts their purchases in victory.

Eve's hands drop to the seam of her dress. In a rush of confidence, she'd been persuaded to dust off the only mini-dress left in her closet - a navy, open-backed thing from Ted Baker that hadn't seen the light of day since her early thirties. It just so happened to be Bill's favourite, his grin sly and impressed as she'd held up her phone camera to give him a better look.

Now she feels awkward and bare beside Konstantin who moves to handle the fresh bottles of Veuve Clicquot and usher the girls inside.

He helps Oksana with her coat. Irina tosses hers across the sofa and reveals a sharp, black suit. She struts over to Eve with a big grin, twirling in a caricature of femininity and batting her eyelashes.

"What do you think?"

Eve laughs. "You look very dapper."

Irina flicks her hair out of her eyes and turns to Oksana who smirks across the island.

"Who looks better?" she shoves her hands into the pockets of her trousers and strikes a casual, indifferent pose to recapture Eve's attention. "Me - or her?"

Eve's fingers squeeze against the delicate stem of her flute.

Her brain tries to cobble together a word that might describe the way Oksana looks. She comes up blank. The champagne jostles as she sets down her glass. "You're both - well, _you_ \- the suit -" she sighs, brushing down Irina's lapel, "is great."

Irina gloats at Oksana and her suppressed grin, her gaze locked only on Eve. It makes Eve sumersault, flushing from toe to top.

Oksana barely has time to mouth a soft _hello_ at her before she's being dragged away, just as Carolyn pulls her into conversation about funding and NHS politics - she'd never been more relieved to engage in something so mind-numbingly boring, even if it did wash over her in one nonsensical blur. 

Her attention stays on Oksana, who keeps to the periphery of her vision, helping Natasha with the food and pulling things out of the fridge while Irina flits around her like a puppy, curious and annoying and completely enamoured.

Konstantin's friends come late, and in one large, overwhelming heard. They thaw the room with Russian camaraderie Eve's keen to loose herself in, bemused and impressed to find so many of his peers in the same city.

They're mostly couples - friends from Moscow who lived and worked in London's biggest hospitals, as anaesthetists and surgeons and leading medical consultants, all enthusiastic and quick to find out more about her.

She lets herself get swept in the conversational tide, happy to find Natasha finally in the company of close, female friends.

Oksana holds her own across the room. She laughs and swaps touches and stories with Konstantin's friends, eyes loyal to Eve, though she makes no attempt to come over.

It dangles Eve on the edge of expectation, wondering when they might talk, what Oksana might say to her.

She hadn't been the best at responding to messages. In the down-time between Boxing Day and New Year, she'd existed in a state of perpetual limbo - somewhere in the soft, delicate space between watching someone sleep, and letting that intimacy vanish as soon as Oksana had woken.

Each time she closed her eyes, Eve could almost convince herself it had all been a carefully-crafted fantasy.

It's not until the canapes have been cleared and Konstantin's plying her with shots of whiskey she insists on handing back, that Oksana finally corners her with a gentle hand to her arm.

"You are avoiding me, Eve."

Eve's laugh skitters out, awkward and tight. "What?"

"You keep looking at me - but you haven't said hello." Oksana's nude lipstick shimmers against her pearly teeth.

"Hello."

Oksana grins. She steps back to give Eve space to compose herself. "Hello. Are you having a good time?"

"Konstantin's hammered. Of course I'm having a good time."

"Really? Because you are standing here, by yourself," Oksana teases, _in that dress_ , her smile says, "with an empty drink - "

"I'm pacing myself."

" _Oh!_ " she nods, stroking her chin sagely, then dropping the act. "Why?"

"Because I'm an adult."

Oksana rolls her eyes. She takes Eve's glass and tops her up. Somehow, coming from her and not Konstantin, it seemed more inviting, felt less of a bad idea, easily lured Eve into a state of giddy-drunk that made her feel girlish and coy. Their glasses clink and then Oksana's grinning at her again, beautiful and charming and hard to look away from.

The drink goes down easy this time.

Eve feels the edges of her anxiety blur with it, saturated by Oksana's perfume and the loud music and hubub, and Oksana's blonde hair, half-up and splayed across her bare clavicles - a frame to the deep plunge of her white long-sleeve dress, the beauty spot nestled between her breasts and then another, her smooth, bright skin, the sinewy muscle beneath -

"I need a smoke."

Oksana chuckles, leaning back against the island.

"That is a very disgusting habit."

Eve scoffs. She rests her empty glass by Oksana's side, careful not to touch her with her trembling fingers, careful not to stumble in her heels as she feels Oksana's eyes on her. They burn holes in her back, even as she finds her way out of the now empty kitchen in search of her coat, through the mingling crowd and out towards the doors to Konstantin's balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's for us Brits. Fuck the Tories.

_b)_

She stares at the gust of smoke as it blows past her lips. The nicotine had done its job, paving heavy-handedly over her frazzled nerves but not her heart, which continued to rattle quick as a rabbit in her chest. She takes another greedy drag.

The streets below are quiet. The air buzzes around her, ringing with the sound of distant, drunken laughter and the pop of premature fireworks just out of sight. There is no traffic.

She squashes the butt of her cigarette against the railing and looks up to the heavens.

No matter how hopeful she stayed, how many times she chanced it, the outcome was the same: a starless purple smog of a sky, illuminated orange by street lamps and the smattering of lights on the tower blocks further out. She could pretend they were stars, she supposed, but the cynic in her always won.

"Eve."

She doesn't turn. She doesn't need to. Oksana steps out beside her.

"What are you doing?"

Eve lifts her near-empty pack of Marlboros, her focus lingering on the cityscape.

Oksana takes the cigarettes, clicking her tongue before pocketing them. She looks at Eve pointedly but doesn't tell her off, smirking at the guilt Eve can't mask before huddling into her side to share warmth.

"It's cold tonight."

Eve nods.

"This is a very shit view."

"At least it's _a_ view."

Except Eve isn't seeing it at all.

Oksana's profile is silhouetted by the light from the apartment, her fitted wool coat pulled tight around her, camel-brown and falling to just above her trainers. They shouldn't go with the outfit but they do, bizzarely, and Eve sucks her lips into her mouth so she doesn't say something stupid.

They stand like that for long minutes, Oksana's body radiating heat where their arms touch. Each time the wind blows, the smell of lipstick and perfume washes over Eve, the sound of Oksana's quiet breathing stark and hypnotic, the only thing she hears beyond the hushed lull of conversation inside.

She turns so that her back is to the railing. Oksana looks at her. Her diamond earrings glint in the low light.

"Are you okay?"

Eve hums. She folds her arms across her chest, part-cold and part-cornered, the inside of her fizzing and popping like a bottle waiting to burst. She shivers with it. Oksana leans closer to her.

"How uh - how's your physio going?"

"Eve."

"You're not using your crutches much, I figured it's good, what with your bike and -"

" _Eve_."

"What?"

There's that laugh again, gruff and amused. She can't stop trembling. It must be the wind, the thrill of a New Year minutes away.

Oksana takes pity on her. "Do you need another cigarette?" she says gently.

"No - why?"

"Do you want to go inside? You are shaking."

"Just cold."

Oksana stiffens. Eve can feel her go rigid beside her as she steels herself, her eyes changing to that impatient, determined, tender way Eve never knew what to do with. She doesn't need to because Oksana slumps against the railing, chin falling onto her folded arms as a short, white breath huffs out of her mouth.

"You should talk to me, Eve. I -" Eve watches her brows crinkle, shoulders shrugging as she tries to explain, "I want to - ask you things. I want you to tell me. You never tell me."

She wants to say, _I don't owe you anything_ but all that comes out is, "I tell you things."

Oksana looks up at her with her big, obnoxious pout. "No. You don't."

"You don't ask."

"You don't make it easy for me."

That was fair, she'll admit. She hadn't made it easy for Oksana, though she'd only been giving as good as she got.

She'd felt threatened at first, and then curious and increasingly overwhelmed, and amongst trying to right her own axis, she'd found it difficult to make room for anything beyond apologies that masqueraded as practical favours, beyond a tentative - friendship, was it? Beyond waiting and waiting - for what?

She swallows hard and scuffs her heel against the ground. "So ask."

Oksana blinks at her, unsure if she's being toyed with. When Eve stares back, unwavering, her eyebrows shoot up.

" _O_ -kay," she smooths hair off her shoulder and weighs up her options. "What were you thinking about?" She nods to the tower blocks, "Before."

"How much pollution there is in this damn city."

Oksana's elbow pokes at her, urging her for an actual answer, but Eve holds her nerve because, well, she had kind of been thinking about that. Amongst other things.

"What do you want for the New Year?" she tries.

Eve didn't fancy herself a greedy person. She wanted things, of course she did, but she wasn't spoilt, by any stretch of the imagination. She knew self-control. She knew patience. And she'd always wanted for others, before herself: things for Niko, for his parents, for her mother, her colleagues, her neighbour, her friends. The list went on.

Since the summer, she'd found herself wanting a whole lot more.

Simple things, at first, like for Oksana to back off and tread lightly. And then for her to quit being so self-righteous all the time, so smug and unbelievably present. And then she'd wanted to know more, to see Oksana more, to learn her and spend time with her, to see how far they could push each other, to look at her and touch her and -

"I want the wards to be okay. I want to be around for Jess and Bill's kids instead of working all the time. I want Kenny to get a girlfriend. I want Hugo to be better at Geriatrics than he was at TNO. I want Niko to be happy."

Oksana shakes her head. "What do you want for _you_?"

Eve almost growls. "What do _you_ want?"

Oksana's face lights a little at the prospect.

Eve knew Oksana was a person who wanted things all the time, and usually got exactly what she asked for. She wonders if Oksana might rattle off a list of designer clothes, maybe something for the house, but Oksana only shrugs her mouth, nuzzling her chin into her forearms.

"Normal stuff. Nice life. Cool flat. Fun job," and then a soft, barely-there, "someone to watch movies with."

She looks to Eve tentatively. Her cheeks round into a careful smile, sombre at the edges.

Eve nods. Maybe their wish lists weren't so different.

"You have those things."

"Some of them," she taps on the metal railing, the quiet _clang_ of her ring sharp over her gentle words. "Eve?"

Eve craves another cigarette. So much so, she thinks about reaching into Oksana's pocket and just grabbing one. "Yeah."

"Where is your husband?"

Her stomach drops. The churning feeling cuts through the strange calm that had settled over her.

"I have no idea."

How crazy that sounded - she hadn't a clue where her own husband was, if she could still call him that. Estranged, missing, ex. Whatever she was meant to call him now, Eve hoped he was somewhere warm, wasted and in the arms of someone who loved him.

"He is funny looking. He looks like someone stuck a moustache on some fudge."

Eve sparks. She spins to face Oksana head-on.

"You know, sometimes you're so -" she scrapes a hand through her hair, tangled from the wind. "You're just - the stuff you say is - it's - not _nice_." That wasn't the right word. "It's like you don't - like you're _bored_. Like you don't - _like_ anything. You don't _feel_ anything."

Oksana looks at her, silent. She wets her lips, mouth opening and closing indecisively, then finally settling on - "I feel things when I'm with you."

Eve tightens her grip on the railing. Her fingers have started to turn numb from the cold. She can barely feel the metal below, sturdy and sore against her shivering body.

The words settle like a bang on a gong. They hit hardest in her chest, then reverberate all the way down to her toes until there's nothing left for her but to deflate, arms dropping to her sides.

Oksana's breaths are so close to her. She can almost feel them, see the speckled flecks in Oksana's irises now she no longer has to crane her neck to look up.

She swallows. Stares at Konstantin's glass balcony doors. Teeters on the edge, wondering if she'll take the plunge. And then, with hands clenched inside her pockets and a heart that might just stop, she does.

"I think about you all the time. I think about what you're wearing, and what you're doing, and who you're doing it with. I think about the friends you have, I think about what you eat before you go to work, and what shampoo you have, and what happened in your family. I think about your eyes and your mouth, and what you feel when you're in a trauma case, I think about what you have for breakfast. I just want to know everything."

She feels Oksana shift next to her. She wants the ground to swallow her whole.

"I think about you too."

Her ears ring with the sound of it. Everything within her tells her to step back inside, to leave Oksana behind, to throw herself into the bustling, intoxicated crowd and deal with the consequences later.

Oksana latches onto her hand, tethering her. "Don't run," she whispers.

Eve has little time to think, to argue, before Oksana's stepping to her, palm to her own, hand raised to her face.

"Don't run," she says again. She touches Eve with the pad of her thumb, breath-soft against her flushed cheek and temple, and then languid in her hair and the tender skin behind her ear.

Eve stays statue still, her straining breath a dead give-away to her fraying composure. Her throat feels tight, dry as she gulps.

"I've never done anything like this before."

She had. She'd been kissed and touched and vulnerable and naked, but not like this, not unravelled with her clothes still on, quaking at the mercy of someone else's fingertips opening her like a present without parting the giftwrap.

"It's okay - I know what I'm doing."

Oksana licks her lips again, the smell of her hot and sweet. Eve's mouth waters when their foreheads nudge together. 

Oksana waits for her to lean in and make the first move, the success that much sweeter, Eve figures, if she's the one to do it.

And she's so willing, so wanting, so relieved that it comes so easy to her, spurred on by Oksana's happy, inviting smile, the curve of her pretty mouth pink and open to greet her.

She sighs, curling her hand against the lapel of Oksana's coat to steady herself.

"You will catch your death," Konstantin's voice booms through the gaping doors, his laugh cut short as Eve jerks away, hands desparate to find purchase somewhere else, skittish against her parka. "And you will miss the fireworks," he motions to the TV inside, cautious this time, eyes soft and then softer still as they fall on Oksana.

"Yeah," Eve croaks. She can't stop nodding. She can already hear the countdown begin.

"Eve -"

"Unless you want to..." Konstantin tries but she's already shouldering her way back inside, missing the soft _sorry_ he offers them both and Oksana's hopeless, wounded look that follows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	24. Chapter 24

//

"To the left," she instructs Hugo, hand on his wrist to help re-position the camera probe. It takes him a second to right himself, his smile lop-sided and guilty.

He used to be terrible at this. Eve can't quite remember when things got better for him, but she's only had to correct him twice and they're already on their third patient.

She misses Jess, more than anything.

Between Christmas and New Year, she'd gotten countless texts to keep the days ticking over - photos of baby Emma in dozens of gender-neutral clothes Santa (she) had bought her. The Christmas pudding hat and yellow giraffe onesie had easily been her favourites, and she'd gotten to see both over a quick morning Skype session before theatres. 

She'd given Bill's baby girl things in a similar theme, except the giraffe had been replaced by tiny elephants and both kids' photos ended up as caller IDs on her phone. 

She turns from the display screen to Hugo. His hair sticks out from beneath his hat in a begrudgingly endearing way. She'd miss him too - a week from now when he rotated onto Elderly Care with Bill - even though he'd spent an entire hour telling her about a girl he'd met at a recent gig.

It keeps her interested, distracted enough from Oksana, who sits with her leg propped on a stool as she commands the various pieces of equipment around her. She'd been contracted to do elective lists only - things that didn't require running around or night shifts. Unfortunately for Eve, their schedules seemed to fall right into each other.

"You realise I'm not your mom, right?" 

Hugo grins. "Yeah, but - you kind of are, aren't you? Like a hospital-mum," he wiggles his eyebrows. Eve grunts.

"Call her."

He jostles the probe and Eve loses sight of the patient's meniscus. She can't bring herself to care when he deflates beside her. "I went for it."

"Huh?"

"Right in for it," he shrugs, "thought she'd fancy a pull but - "

Eve grips her equipment tighter. There's prickly sweat just inside her hairline. Oksana doesn't look up from her textbook.

"Think I misjudged it. Then her mates came back from the bar and - you know," he straightens, both himself and the camera probe, "absolute twat. I'm a dickhead."

She looks to Oksana, watching the locum scrub nurse flit around her, accommodating and eager and entirely redundant. She thinks about yelling at her, whatever the hell her name was, asking her to sod off and leave the doctors to concentrate.

Except Oksana likes it. She entertains it all, in her stupid duck hat and legless state, giving her time away, and not to Eve.

They're speaking Russian. It makes Eve's blood boil. She can feel it, like a gnawing, pulsating ache lurking right in the pit of her.

"Bill's not going to be as accommodating as this, just a heads up," she mumbles. "Just - Call her." She hates herself for it. 

She hadn't even gotten close to messaging Oksana let alone phoning. She hadn't said a word to her after the firework display had faded on screen, after Konstantin had gathered everyone for a drinking game, after dawn had come and she'd called herself a cab, drunk and bitter and exhausted.

God forbid she thought about her sleepless night, the sour humiliation that had settled, in her chest at first and then in her stomach, clenching and thudding and swimming downwards in her hazy stupor. Her empty bed had felt too warm then, and she'd felt too big for it, too inflated with the want in Oksana's eyes, the rough timbre of her voice, how soft she'd been only for Eve to, quite literally, turn her back on her.

They hadn't spoken in the doctor's mess or the cafeteria. Eve hadn't offered to help Oksana with her food tray or meet her after work. She'd wanted to, longed to forget all about New Year and make Oksana laugh instead of walking on eggshells, make her happy instead of feeling like she might splinter at any given moment.

She'd avoided Konsantin too, like the plague, though she saw him in passing and always with that guilty, delicate look in his eye. It irked her.

Still, she finds herself speaking on auto-pilot, even as Oksana reclines arrogantly in her chair and says something to make the nurse giggle.

"She probably wasn't - expecting it? Or -" she sighs, "I don't know. Maybe her friends - maybe it wasn't good timing."

It had definitely been horrendous timing.

"D'you reckon?"

Oksana's palm runs along the nurse's bare arm, fingers circling around her wrist to keep her tethered in conversation. It's playful. Intimate. Eve can feel her heart pummel in her chest, beating the breath right out of her.

She doesn't bother responding to Hugo's question, focussed instead on finishing up the arthroscopy as quickly as possible over the nurse's incessant chatter.

She rips her gloves and hat off and steps away from the operating table.

"Are you yapping or are you working?" she shouts. 

Oksana looks up. "Eve, what -"

"You," Eve stares at her colleague. The brunette frowns, stepping from behind the machines to address Eve.

"Yes?" she says softly. She's pretty, Eve concedes. Big, thoughtful brown eyes. High cheekbones. Young. Maybe younger than Oksana. 

"What's your name?"

The girl shifts her weight onto her other foot, straightening her theatre hat as her eyes flick nervously between her and Oksana.

"Nadia."

"Eve, come on," Oksana interjects, pushing away from the machines. "She is new. Stop -"

" _No_ \- you know what? _You_ stop! You came late," she snaps, "all you've done is shit-talk and distract the entire goddamn team, it's _unprofessional_ ," she ignores the uneasy look Hugo gives her, shoving her gown into the nearest bin and wrapping her cardigan tight around her scrubbed self.

She fights the urge to say _you haven't called me, you haven't messaged, why haven't you called? I wanted you to call._ She swipes her mobile and ID badge from the washing trough. "Get it out of your system, or don't bother coming back for the afternoon."

Before Oksana can attempt to rise out of her chair, to put up a line of defense, Eve's out the door, in desperate search of time alone and the strongest coffee she can find. 

The afternoon is worse.

Partly because their paths cross by the vending machines, and Eve makes a huge, irrational point of buying a Twix only for herself, then scoffing it angrily in exactly two bites. 

Mostly, it's because neither Hugo nor Nadia's names are rota'd for the afternoon, which leaves Oksana bored and grumpy, and forces Eve to operate alongside a vapid registrar who lacks social skill and is even worse at suturing. 

Eve uses all the spare quiet to sulk. She was being childish, she knew. She'd made her own bed and now that she was expected to lie in it, it left her miserable at best. She wasn't alone in her horrid mood.

Oksana shared it, lingering over her revision notes but hardly turning the pages. The idea that her disinterest was down to New Year, or worse - Nadia's absence - spins around in Eve's brain like a penny. She waits anxiously to find out which side it might land on.

When the last patient is done and the team is packing up for the day, when Eve's handbag is already slung across her shoulder and her coat fastened to her chin, Oksana catches her in the induction room. She steps between her and the double doors, gently and carefully, but with some determination.

"You are stubborn."

Eve holds her gaze. Oksana stands her ground. "Are you going to let me go home or - ?"

"Why are you so stubborn, Eve?"

"Oksana -"

"Why are you so angry today?"

There's that softness there, nestled between Oksana's pride and her searching eyes. Eve hated having weakness reflected back at herself. She found it soul-destroying, cringey. Weakness wasn't the right word for Oksana though, Eve knew that from the start. Vulnerability, maybe. And only sometimes. God how Eve loved to see it.

"I'm not."

Oksana hums. "Sure you are. You are an asshole today. You woke up and decided the world was out to get you. You woke up," her mouth is flat, confused, " _on the wrong bed,_ " she tries - Eve struggles not to smile - "and you are being _cranky_."

"I'm not."

Oksana steps to her. "I know you, Eve. I know you because I know myself. We are the same and _you,_ are being an asshole."

"I'm tired."

She was chronically tired. Always, but especially today. Twenty-twenty hadn't exactly started the way she'd hoped.

"I know you are. I am also tired."

Eve's eyes drop to Oksana's knee. In her self-sabotage, she'd barely stopped to think about what effect being back at work might have had on Oksana and her injury. 

She put on a brave face but she needed help - Eve saw it in the way she struggled to carry things, how much slower she moved, how stiff she got after sitting too long or at the end of the day.

She works to find the right words. She's a wreck. 

She tucks a curl behind her ear and taps her Chelsea boot against the linoleum floor, looking down at it and then up to the ceiling. "I don't know what I'm doing."

Oksana's eyebrows rise.

"I haven't slept for three days," she scoffs, "and I feel - fuck, I feel," and Oksana's looking at her, why does she have to look at her like that?, "I feel _wide_ _awake_." She just wants to go home. There's take-out with her name on it waiting in her fridge. 

Oksana pulls a face, half berating and half playful as she says, "You have had four coffees today. And there has been a lot of smoking."

"It's not -"

"I know." There's a smirk, a tentative exchange of smiles. It makes Eve's walls shake, sturdy as they are. She glances to the clock and then back to Oksana who's moved away from the door to make space for her to walk free. "You're going to become a chain-smoker."

Eve sucks her lips into her mouth. She takes Oksana in - the scrubs have been replaced with a forest-green coarse knit jumper that almost swallows Oksana whole, the tips of her hair catching against the wool. 

Eve's sombre, jealous rage melts.

"It's -" she fidgets with her zip. "- been a _bitch_ of a long day. And I know I live across town but -" she sighs. "And, God, New Year was - that was -" her voice catches, like a hiccup, and Oksana's smiling so bittersweetly, carefully, "It's the least I could do...if you - I'd like to -"

"Sure."

Eve halts. "...dinner?"

"I got it," Oksana nods. "And yes."

Eve's still sweating, right beneath the collar of her parka, but she's stopped clenching her hands around the straps of her handbag so her fingers don't ache, "I have Chinese," she adds as they leave the theatre.

"I respect your unhealthy lifestyle choices, Eve, sure," Oksana nods seriously, falling in step with her, "but we will stop by Waitrose, okay? Less MSG - and casualties - if I cook."

Eve would make a successful meal from scratch some day. She swore it. Oksana was here tonight though, so who was she to deny herself a Michelin-star dinner served right in her own home?

Time healed all wounds but so did food, and Eve was grateful for it, for Oksana and for the second chance she'd been given. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER 26'S WHERE IT'S AT I SWEAR TO GOD PLEASE DON'T KILL ME.

//

Oksana is a revelation, standing in Eve's kitchen with her sleeves tucked around her elbows and her jumper slung across the back of the sofa.

Eve watches her from the dining table, chin in hand. She moves easily, commanding the space as if it were her own, lingering over the stove as the steam rises and curls to greet her.

She looks at home.

Of course, Eve had offered to help. She'd been mortified to sit and be waited on, but she'd only been shushed, appeased with wine and pre-packaged appetisers and then given that cautious smile just before Oksana had turned towards the shopping bags.

Eve sets down her glass and rises. She does it quietly, sneaking in so Oksana doesn't berate her, hand reaching for the wooden spoon by the time she's been spotted. 

"Sit."

"No," she focuses on the pan stubbornly, peering into the red-wine reduction. It smells incredible. It smells like rosemary and shallots and she steals a taste, humming with satisfaction as Oksana stares at her. "How do you -" and then she's tasting it again and words escape her.

Oksana flings the tea towel across her shoulder and folds her arms over her chest. She's flushed.

Eve's not sure whether from the wine or the heat but she wears it well, high and glowing on her cheeks where they've curved into a smile. It reminds her of New Year, leaves a thrumming in her chest she stifles by distracting herself with the sauce.

"I know."

Eve gives her a side-glance. "Is there anything you can't do?"

Oksana sobers. She leans against the granite surface. Her eyes are heavy and dark and everywhere all at once. "No. I can do most things," she says confidently, and then quieter, "some better than others."

The pause that follows remains empty. Eve knows the words that should fill it. _I'm good at everything. I'm good at getting what I want, just not with you._

She clears her throat as she stoops down to check on the oven. Keeping herself busy means keeping herself distracted.

The lamb sizzles inside. She looks up from her crouched position, Oksana's hair soft and loose around her shoulders. A brief flash of insanity urges her to kneel forward and wrap arms around Oksana's knees, to beg, _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_.

Instead, she blinks her own frazzled reflection away, standing and giving an awkward thumbs-up.

"Almost ready."

She can't get to her wine fast enough, passing Oksana her own, though it's hardly been touched. At this rate, she'll be good for bed by nine.

Oksana feels too close and not close enough - she has, all evening. She smells bright, like citrus. It's simultaneously overwhelming and underwhelming, the need to step closer and run. 

She has half a mind to call it out, to ask how the hell this chase had lasted so long, why Oksana insisted on sticking around, what it took for her to _really_ fuck things up - was that possible? - what it was Oksana seemed so hell-bent on getting out of her, or worse, _giving_ her?

Oksana finally sprawls across a chair, indicating for her to do the same.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Eve didn't. Not unless it ended in a fight, or a fuck, something she was good at, itched for, something neat and tidy and definitive. Not this.

"No."

Oksana leans forward. "Honesty is the best policy. It will make you feel better."

Eve sighs. "When did you become such an expert on honesty?"

"I have always been honest with you."

She was smitten by it. It was refreshing, all-consuming - to be constantly called out on her bullshit, to be challenged.

She just needed a break to catch her breath, to catch her brain up to where her heart was headed. To be practical instead of self-indulgent.

She swigs the last of her wine and lets the glass thud.

"We work together."

That hadn't been the main issue but it was a major player.

Eve had dreamed about it in her twenties as a registrar, and then later as a consultant: a torrid affair in the hospital shadows, between theatre lists and late-night on-calls, with someone that made her burn but was yet to exist.

She'd entertain the fantasy on late nights and early mornings, Niko nestled by her side or between her legs, his mouth too-soft and not soft enough. In the bright light of day, the fantasy splintered into practicality, into the mundane clockwork of married life, into work-first-and-play-later.

Besides, Eve was a senior: a team-leader, a supervisor, the head of her department. Which meant that Oksana wasn't. She expected the power-play to inspire her, but it always sat, hot and curdled at the forefront of her chest.

"Yes."

Eve stares, hoping Oksana catches on. It's a thready excuse but an excuse nonetheless.

"We work very well together."

"I'm your boss."

"Not really," Oksana shrugs. She moves out of her seat to tend to the food. Eve watches her do it, wondering if she might follow up, wondering if she should move to help. Oksana spares her, slicing expertly through the rack of lamb as she says, "Konstantin is my boss. We are a different team."

"That's not - "

"And Carolyn. She is everybody's boss. She is the _real_ boss, but -" and she swivels with a plate in her hand, bursting with colour from the asparagus, the sauce and the honeyed potatoes, the smell wafting towards Eve and making her mouth water. "- so what?"

Eve reaches for the bottle of wine. She tops up both glasses, hovering over her next sip. "That's not the point."

Oksana laughs. The sound is low and humourless. She comes to the table with plates piled high, moving her chair to sit perpendicular to Eve. "Do you always treat everything like a business transaction? Because - you are very good at it, Eve. This is very," she purses her mouth, tapping her fork against the ceramic, " _formal_."

And it had nagged her all night. Somehow she'd managed to jump backwards in time from the burgeoning familiarity of before into No Man's Land, where everything felt taut and distant and cold.

She swallows. Takes a big, delicious bite. Watches the pleased, fleeting reaction on Oksana's face.

"I don't think so."

Oksana nods somberly. She spears an asparagus, snapping it with her teeth. "No? You haven't touched me. You have barely looked at me. I want you to, but I think, maybe you will yell at me instead? Like you used to," she cocks her eyebrow. 

Eve longed to touch. She'd thought about it in the induction room, wanted to run her fingers over the knotted material of Oksana's jumper, to feel its rough texture beneath the soft strands of her hair. She'd wanted to take her hand, to hold the space between her fingers, in the lift and the corridor and on the crowded Tube home. She'd wanted to slam her front door and then Oksana against it, to taste her mouth and her hands and the hot, fast way she'd breathe.

"Eve."

The food on her plate stares up at her. It's perfect - she'd expected nothing less. Oksana had made it for her and waited for her and coaxed and coaxed her and she'd pushed and pushed away, always pushing.

Suddenly the tears rush in and the table turns blurry and she's shoving in another fork-full, hoping it loosens the knot swelling in her throat, tight and sore. She swallows.

"Eve," Oksana reaches across the corner of the table for her, palm firm against her knuckles. "What are you doing?"

Eve blinks. "I don't know. I told you, I don't know."

Oksana squeezes, but only once, and Eve unmoors, looking up for Oksana's eyes, green and knowing as they stare back. 

She sniffs. Waits.

"I lived in Paris. For a long time," Oksana leans back in her seat.

It comes so out of the blue that the tears dry before they can fall, her entire body stilling to listen.

"I studied at the Sorbonne. It is a good university - the best. I liked it more than St Petersburg. It is _very_ different - the streets are small and the people are rude, _angry_ , all of the time, and there is art everywhere, like a postcard picture - _everywhere_ \- and the food is - " she rolls her eyes in pleasure, which pulls a small smile from Eve. "There is excellent shopping. _Haute-couture_. _Champs-Élysées_ ," she says in perfect French.

Eve sets her cutlery down.

"There, nobody gives a shit. I did what I wanted, whenever I wanted. I could be who I wanted, be _with_ whoever I wanted. St Petersburg was - " she mulls it over. Eve watches her teeth work over her lip. "A black and white movie, you know? And Paris is..."

"Colour," Eve offers. 

Oksana speaks about Paris the way someone might speak about a lover or family. Eve could listen to it for hours. For months she'd been desperate to learn more about her and her life and though Oksana always remained so open, Eve found that she hardly knew anything about her at all.

Fleetingly, she pictures them on the sofa, feet in her lap as she talks and talks into the wee hours of the morning.

She pictures kid-Oksana skipping through side-roads and up steps to the Sacré-Coeur, pictures her older and wilder, traipsing along the banks of the Seine, getting her portrait at the Montmartre, taking a lover. 

"It is very easy to fall in love there."

Something inside Eve flutters. "So I've been told."

Oksana looks at her softly. There's a phantom pain, nestled in the corners of her mouth, a lingering hurt in her irises. Eve pinches her lips, gathering courage.

"What happened?"

"A lot of things," she crosses her legs. Her arrogant smirk is there, but half-hearted. Eve imagines her with a French woman, maybe a Russian expat, an older woman, a professor. She struggles to imagine her with a man. "The one that really hurt? She was - " she swallows, "- different. Beautiful. _Hard work._ "

Eve nods. She wants to say, _you work very hard._

"I was young. And," Oksana winces, "there was a husband. And then there was London."

The fluttering inside Eve rises and morphs into remorse.

"You like London," she tries.

Oksana leans on her elbows. She looks sad. God how it hurt to see it. "Eve - I don't want that with you."

It stings. Eve scrapes the remnants of her dinner around her plate.

"This is not the same. And you are - And I am _definitely_ not -- not any more," she sighs. "You do not owe me something. I only wanted to know you. To share the same space. To - spend the same time. I _like_ you. Very much - enough to make sure there is no pressure. And I know, believe me, I know - with Niko, and - "

"Niko and I are no longer together."

Oksana's eyes snap up. Eve shivers with it.

"He - nothing's been formalised yet but, I think the plan for the New Year is..." _Divorce. Christ._

There it was. She was going to be a childless divorcee. Not that it bothered her or came as much of a surprise.

 _"Oh. Shit._ "

There's a genuine apology there, somewhere. Sympathy - seldom seen - for her, for the hurt she might be going through (she isn't, not any more) above any ego or pride Oksana had.

"It's a _long_ time coming."

"Eve, you don't need to -"

"It's alright. It's only taken me a couple of decades," she says sarcastically, "but, better late then never, right?" 

Oksana doesn't bite. "I'm a dick."

Eve laughs, finally, liberally. "Why?"

"I thought - with your wedding band - but I didn't realise it was happening _now_. And I gave you Champagne. A _lot_ of Champagne. You are getting a _divorce_ and it is not polite to kiss beautiful women when they are in the process of leaving their husbands, it's not -"

"Oksana."

"Eve, _please_ , it was rude and -"

"I wanted it."

Oksana stops. Blinks. Bites her mouth. Eve had watched it the entire night, wrapped around the rim of her glass, around the fork, around her sticky fingers. 

"I want it."

Oksana's throat bobs, once, twice. Eve can hear her own heart pound in her ribcage.

"I wanted my New Year to start with you, I'd been thinking about it - _fuck_ , for - " her breaks snap and she finds herself really tumbling, hurtling, "God, for too long. But - _not_ hammered and freezing, at _Konstantin's_ , of all places."

"Konstanin wouldn't mind," Oksana smirks.

" _Gross_ ," she scoffs. "And yes, he would."

"I really don't think so."

Eve rolls her eyes. Oksana's reaching for her again, touching the contours of her knuckles, stopping her fingers from fidgeting around her plate.

She takes a deep breath and turns her palm up to slide against Oksana's own.

"If it happened - I'd want to actually _remember_ it. I'd want to be _sober_. I'd want to - have the time to enjoy it, just for myself. It feels - important? Is that - ? Do you get that?"

It's disgustingly sappy. She half-expects Oksana to roll her eyes, to brush her off.

Oksana looks at her as if she might say, _so kiss me, for God's sake! What are you waiting for!_

She could. Eve would probably toss her whole life by the wayside just for it to happen.

But she doesn't. Oksana picks up her fork with her free hand and sheepishly spears a potato.

"I get it."

"Is that - okay?"

She smiles around a mouthful, her hold on Eve's hand firm and unwavering.

"Yes," she nods, "it's okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me at @vracs1


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 💋

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It finally happened. Happy 2020 🤙

//

Eve stares at the documents nestled in the wallet Oksana had gifted her. It feels wrong, having one inside the other.

She shoves her face into her hands and groans. Her phone is ringing. She keeps her fingers over her eyes as she pats the desk to make it stop.

"Eve, did you - "

"I'm at work."

"Right. So am I. Did you get the - "

"I can't do this now. I have clinic about to start. Can you just - Can you give me - "

There's a soft knock at her door. Oksana's there, wearing a small smile and a huge cashmere scarf wrapped around the top of her coat. Her presence comes as utter relief.

Eve waves feebly, shutting her leather binder as quickly but inconspicuously as possible.

"I have to go." She hangs up before Niko can argue, slumping in her chair as Oksana steps into the room.

"Are you okay?"

"Never better," she says flatly. She reaches for the spare coffee and croissant and hands them to Oksana who grins and inhales with a loud, exhaggerated moan.

"You are a saint," she takes a long, indulgent swig. She looks tired but happy.

"It's a thank-you."

Oksana's reaction pulls a genuine smile from Eve. "For dinner. It was glorious." Her ears burn. She taps her pen against the desk. "Are you next door?"

"Room three. And - my pleasure. Really."

Something hot and lovely twinges inside Eve.

"Come and get me if you need me, okay?"

Eve wonders if Konstantin might also be down for OPD. She doesn't ask. She likes the idea of sharing the morning with Oksana: just the two of them, flitting in and out of each other's rooms to ask for advice but mostly just to catch glimpses of one another.

"I will. Think you'll finish on time?"

The memory of dinner had replayed itself for days on end, their conversation a constant earworm.

It had, admittedly, been nothing short of romantic, even if the notion grossed Eve out.

She'd been wondering how to repay Oksana, to out-do her, to follow up on the moment of bravery she'd had, her confession welcomed openly, between the main course and the strawberry cheesecake on her sofa.

"I have twenty-nine patients this morning, seventeen in the afternoon. So, I doubt it?" Oksana laughs.

Eve was in the same boat. Running late was a given, but then again, she hated half-assing her own work. Oksana shared the sentiment.

Still, today, she was willing to make an exception, desperate to leave before half-four, even if it meant pausing her list for fifteen minutes and coming back to it later.

"I want to show you something. After clinic."

Oksana raises her eyebrow, eyes glinting with intrigue. "Do you have a surprise for me?"

She did. She hoped to God it worked out. She hoped Oksana liked it. "Mm-hmm. If you behave."

"I will work through my lunch-break then," Oksana beams, pointing to Eve's hands. "You are finding it useful?"

A pang bursts inside Eve's chest. She folds her arms across the leather portfolio and switches on her computer. "I mean, so far I've only lost my ID card, so - yeah?" she dead-pans, because obviously Oksana already knew just how much she loved it - she carried it everywhere, kept her most important things in there. "Half-four - meet me back here. Don't be late."

Oksana schools her expression into a serious one, her inner child shining through as she salutes Eve, then steps backwards out of the room. "Whatever you say, boss."

She practically shoos her last patient out. She feels guilty, naturally, but he's neurotic and dim and she'd been through the operation with him at least twice, not to mention the tornado of nerves that had descended on her just after lunch (which she'd had, rushed, at her desk).

She'd finished her documentation with sweaty hands, knees bouncing under the table as she'd fought to keep her eyes from straying to the digital clock.

She's too impatient to do a proper sign-out, hitting the power button on the wall and then swiping the contents of her desk into her handbag.

Oksana practically slams into her just as she rushes out the door, coat only half-on.

"You said to meet - "

"I was coming to get you," Eve says breathlessly. "We need to get a move on or it won't work." She takes Oksana's hand, hurrying them down the corridor as much as Oksana's hobbling will allow, wishing she was strong and outrageous enough to sling Oksana over her shoulder cave-man style just to move things along.

They use their staff cards to emergency-swipe into the lift and whizz up to the eleventh floor uninterrupted. Eve knows she's frazzled - her hair's probably sticking out in all directions, she's burning up under her coat and Oksana's there, calm and beautiful, using her arms to push herself up the handrails of the remaining steps to the fire doors. 

"Can I have a hint, at least?"

She's too nervous to smile so she shakes her head and rummages for the keys to let them up onto the hospital roof.

"Is this - legal?"

"Trust me. I can't tell you how many times I've been up here," she says and now her voice shakes, hoarse and thin, the wind picking up to remind her of all the times she'd spent on the helipad, bringing in casualties or boarding the chopper to dash across London to the next trauma disaster.

She'd been here, and she'd been just as nervous, just as fired-up on adrenaline and dumb luck, but never like this, beside herself and jittery, barely held together by Oksana's arm linked around her own.

Eve jostles them towards the large, red _H_ printed on the ground, away from the ledge where it's safe to let go.

Of all the rooftop bars, the Shard, the OXO tower, the Walkie-Talkie (the list was endless), this was by far Eve's favourite view of the city. And she was privileged to have access to it, for free, whenever she wanted. She'd just never chosen to share it with anyone else - not even Niko, not Bill or Jess, or Elena, who'd spent the first few years begging her to take the helicopter out for a spin - that part, was most definitely illegal.

She shoves her hands into her pockets and watches Oksana take it in.

From here, there's a three-sixty view. The sky is overcast and swollen with rain. Eve had banked on impressing Oksana with a moody, mid-January sunset to light up the horizon in honey-ambers and burnt fuscia. There's only a glimpse of colour - streaks of pale yellow nestled in concrete cloud. Most of the buildings already have lights on, embroidering the Thames on either side as the water rushes past.

Oksana's eyes still go wide - despite the grey - as they try to soak it all up. She looks like a kid on Christmas and Eve stares at her and at nothing else. She wants to point out different things to her - the path where she runs sometimes, her favourite coffee house behind Borough Market, the pub-turned-karaoke venue Bill made her go to last year. She wants to show Oksana places that are special to her, that no tourist would ever know.

Oksana turns to her. The wind whips hair from her bun across her face. Eve thinks about Renaissance painters and Shakespeare, then scuffs her boot against the painted ground.

"You are a romantic."

Eve laughs. It's shrill. Too-loud. 

"Not in the slightest."

"You are. I, am a self-centered, little brat," she drawls in perfect American, then reverts to her low, natural husk, "and you, are sappy."

Eve glares at Oksana, tries to throw daggers but recognises it's futile. "You should spend less time taking the piss out of me and more time enjoying the view. I could lose my job over this."

Oksana smiles. "Is that what you are doing, Eve?" she says gently, pointedly, because Eve's back is turned to the Thames and her eyes are very much on her, "Enjoying the view?"

Eve makes a point of turning so she can look out at the London Eye. She can't help the grin that sneaks its way onto her mouth. "Absolutely. I got a bit of a dud at Konstantin's, so - " she shrugs.

There's a careful hum next to her. Oksana folds her arms across her chest and huddles into her side so the wind can't get at them.

It works every time.

"I like when you are like this." There's no response, so Oksana continues. "Soft."

Eve grunts. She's rising on the inside, like warm dough, and Oksana can see it, so clearly, even as she wraps arms around herself to hold it all in. 

"I _love_ when you are a challenge," Oksana teases and that makes Eve look, exasperated but flattered, "but this is so much better."

"Is it?"

"Sure," she grins. She steps around so they're face to face.

Eve's view is only pale skin, blonde hair and wild, searching eyes. And then, Oksana's mouth, her pretty Cupid's bow sitting on top of her rose-petal lips. She thinks she might never stop discovering little details like that, a different one becoming her favourite every time.

"Are you going to run again?"

Eve's breath shakes as it enters her. "I don't think so," she whispers, "no. Definitely not."

Oksana moves into her, taking with her that scent Eve recognised so well, the comforting heat of it. "Are you sure?" 

She'd never been so sure of anything. It almost hurt - how long it had taken her just to do this.

"I'm sure." 

There are cold fingers curling under her chin, smarting against the flush there as they settle, light as the wind. Eve anchors her own to the thick wool of Oksana's scarf. She wants to touch the skin beneath, a flash of nervous excitement racing through her at the thought: _next time_.

"In case it wasn't clear, I'm going to kiss you, okay?" Oksana announces.

It makes Eve laugh, the sound sweet and bubbling and cut wonderfully short as their mouths come together, finally, fully.

It surprises her, because she'd always pictured herself growing so overcome with anxiety that she ended up kissing Oksana with a clumsy sort-of neediness reminiscent of being back in junior high.

Oksana's a confident kisser though, her lips unbearably soft and pliant, mirroring Eve's own and yielding enough for Eve to push her whole self into it. When she does, all she feels is the hot burst of Oksana's breath and the cool press of her tongue, the sturdy weight of her supportive as she leans on her tiptoes to drown in the moment. 

Her head spins with it. She can feel the thrill of it, curled in her chest and molten between her legs. Her face burns.

It's a real effort to pull away. She tries to resist. Oksana's arms circle around her and when they do, she realises she's out of breath, swaying in her spot.

She steadies herself on Oksana's shoulders.

"Fuck."

Oksana looks at her, amused.

"No, _fuck_ ," she frowns, fumbling for her coat pocket. Her phone continues to vibrate. She contemplates hanging up, but it's Bill and his kid's picture flashes up on her caller ID. She gives Oksana an apologetic smile as she lifts the phone to her ear, Oksana's eyes mischievous with affection as they fixate on her mouth.

"Where the hell are you?"

The look Oksana's giving her sends her heart pounding into the pit of her stomach, making her knees feel like jelly. She can barely get her breath back. "I'm on my way - I'm so sorry - I'm - I'm literally coming, I lost track of time and clinic was - "

"Your pint's turning to piss."

Eve squeezes her eyes shut just so she doesn't have to face Oksana's devastating pout.

"I know. I'll make it up to you, promise. Ten minutes."

And then she ends the call and Oksana's no longer holding her. She feels so guilty that she reaches to cup her face, to appease her. "Do you have plans tomorrow?"

Oksana tilts into her touch. "I have physio."

"After?" she tries hopefully.

"Studying."

Eve sinks. "After?"

Oksana chuckles at her. "I have to run some errands for Konstantin."

"On a Saturday?"

Of course Oksana was going to make her work for it, which was fair, probably, considering Eve had done the same to her. 

"Can I - see you?" she says under a frown, "I could bring lunch? Nothing home-cooked, I swear," she jokes. "Or - we could go out somewhere?" 

It seems to work because Oksana nods, slowly, as if she's expecting a better offer. Eve catches on.

"I won't even smoke. Smoke-free for twenty-four hours, alright? It's as far as I'm willing to go. I might even throw in a plant...if you're lucky."

"Oh! You _are_ a romantic," Oksana says sardonically, dodging the playful but relieved swat Eve aims at her. 

And just before Eve bends down to scoop up their bags, Oksana catches her, snagging the sleeve of her coat to bring her closer again. "Come over. Bring lunch - or don't. Bring yourself - it is all I care about," she says, low and flirtatious and hot and Eve could definitely get used to this, "we will figure out the rest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to Parasite.

//

Her friends are already knee-deep in conversation when she arrives. They stop when they see her, three bemused looks thrown her way as soon as she’s pulled up a chair. 

"Alright, alright, I fucked up."

They’d had this pencilled in before Christmas.

"It’s on you," Bill shrugs, motioning to his and Elena's empty glasses as Jess nurses her half-drunk tonic.

Eve accepts her punishment - she deserved it. She returns with three pints as quickly - and nonchalantly - as possible, barely rid of her coat when Jess gives her dubious eyes, leant forward with her chin in her hand.

"You're never late."

She scoffs. "Hardly."

"Work?" Bill offers but he's not convinced. He's wearing that smirk, the cat-that-got-the-canary kind Eve absolutely hates.

"Clinic. Brutal. Obviously."

“Clinic sounded pretty windy,” he says unhelpfully.

Her beer stares up at her and so does he, and Elena, quietly, and then Jess, who finally breaks the tension with a cough and a launch into chat about babies and motherhood and -

"And I’ve been well, thank you. My tits are leaking twenty-four-seven so there’s that. Honest to God, nobody warns you about any of this."

"Mate, we still hang out with you, double-incontinence and all."

They all turn to Elena. Jess makes a gagging sound. Eve relaxes in her seat a little, welcoming the warm, stealthy palm Elena places on her thigh under the table, squeezing gently as the other two swap breast-feeding stories.

"Missed you."

Eve squeezes back. "Been busy."

It comes out flat, short, sadder than she wants, because - she _had_ been busy, wonderfully so, but mostly with work and Niko and then Oksana, who she loved being busy with, but wasn't ready to talk about yet.

Elena reads her like an open book. "Not all smooth sailing then."

"Swings and round-abouts."

"Do we need to get you wankered again or - " she whispers slyly, "because you _know_ I'm about to whore you out - Clapham's the balls, minus the bankers and the yuppies and that knobhead who's always at the station? You know the one - by the flowers? The Jesus knob, the one who -"

"Fucking hate that Jesus twat," Jess cuts in. " _Every_ time. Every bloody morning, with the fuck-off huge sign and the singing and _why?_ Honestly, why?"

Eve's phone buzzes in her jacket. She ignores it. She rubs the condensation from her glass, clinking the ice-cubes inside. "Move to Dulwich. Only charcoal ice-cream and yummy mummies to stomach.”

Bill laughs. "Or Shoreditch? I hear it's very hipster-eat-your-heart-out."

Eve's heart thuds. She takes a swig. She glances under the table at her phone and feels her pulse ramp up. Speak of the devil.

Oksana:

_What time will you come tomorrow?_

She takes a deep, stuttering breath and re-focuses on Bill. He's looking at her smugly.

"Do I look like I have money pouring out my arse or - ?" Jess scoffs, "Babies are - cash-sucking monsters, I have no idea how people actually have children in London?"

"You just - stop doing exactly what we're doing right now," he stares at the collection of empty drinks on the table, "and you cut out Starbucks and Pret and the Bikram yoga resorts," he raises an eyebrow at Elena, "oh, the theatre, and weekend get-aways and life-drawing and clubbing and - "

"And stop living? _Nope_ ," Elena cringes, waving her hands in front of her as if to say, _thank you, but no thank you_. "Eve? Back me up?"

Three pairs of eyes focus on her. She wants the ground to swallow her up. She'll talk about clinic. Maybe Christmas. Niko, perhaps. Something safe, predictable. Before she can though, Jess puts an arm across Elena to shush her, then says, "O- _kay,_ wildchild. Moving swiftly on. What’s the hot goss," she says dramatically, glancing to Bill and then back, "on New Year's. At Konstantin's. Spill."

Eve covers her phone with her hands reflexively. "Nothing to report."

Bill hums. "Please. That arsehole’s always up to something.”

"What happened to being on good terms?"

"Sure," he knocks back his pint. "What's his wife like?"

"Saintly.”

"And his friends?"

Eve smiles. "Loud. Warm," she says fondly, "loud."

Elena leans against her side. "His daughter's cool, right? What is she - eleven going on forty?"

Her phone buzzes again. She presses her palm harder against it. 

"Irina? She's - a case," she sighs. She loved that kid. "She wore this dapper little suit," she says, grateful for the side-track, "she just sort of – strutted around with that _big_ mouth, she’s spunky, she’s really - "

Her phone emits a buzz yet again. She can feel the heat soak into her cheeks. And then another.

Elena laughs. "Christ, are you going to get that or..."

Jess grins. She sinks back into her sofa seat and crosses her legs, a shit-eating smirk on her face. "So, who are we texting? You’re beetroot and it’s not Niko."

Eve makes her home screen come to life. There are three messages from Oksana. From the display, she can make out a couple of emojis. She quickly swipes to unlock and give them a brief skim.

Oksana:

_There is a good Korean movie at the cinema. I think you will like it._

And then a thinking-emoji and a clapperboard emoji and a question mark.

Eve fights to keep her mouth straight. She quickly types out _Racial stereotyping much?_ but when she lifts her head, her friends are staring at her and she knows she's in for it.

"Just a colleague."

"A colleague?" Bill nods, rubbing his chin. He hooks an elbow against the back rest and smooths down his tie. "You didn't tell us you had other friends."

"Eve's a wanted woman."

Bill softens. "No, I know. She's - irresistible," he taps Eve with his foot under the table. "That gorgeous face."

"A certified fittie," Elena tickles Eve's chin. "With that tight little body? You know I'd be first at your door babe - just need to get both of us on the other side of the fence."

Eve rolls her eyes. Her phone goes off. She contemplates switching it off completely but then Oksana's messages wouldn't deliver and it might send the wrong impression and she definitely didn't want that.

"This colleague of yours is very - persistent," Bill says.

Oksana:

_It has won the Palme D'Or. I am just giving you sound film advice._

Oksana:

_It is about murder. What do you think?_

Followed by a knife, bomb and gun emoji.

Eve laughs out loud. She remembers the afternoon spent on Oksana's sofa. She wonders what it would be like to do it again, except now, with the knowledge of what Oksana felt like, tasted like, sounded like when she kissed.

"Fucking hell, out with it. Go on. What's going on with you?" Jess reaches to swipe the phone but Eve's quicker, pure adrenaline racing through her as she shoves it in her pocket. It must show on her face. She's literally going to incriminate herself.

"Nothing! A friend wants to go catch a movie and - "

"Oh, so it's a friend, now. I thought you said colleague?" Bill's eyes sparkle. God how she wanted to slap him. He knows. Of course, he knows. He's known even since before she did.

"Friend. Colleague. Colleagues can be friends."

"A new colleague."

"No, not new."

"An old colleague," Jess says. "A new registrar?"

"God, no," Eve gawks. "And replace you? I wouldn't dare."

"Thank fuck."

"From another team," Bill tips them off.

Elena remains quiet. Eve can feel her tension, the second-hand guilt at all the questions being bombarded her way. "Look, guys, she doesn't have to tell us if she doesn't want to."

"I guess Niko's...finally out the picture then?"

Eve sighs. She's not going to win this one. "Niko's - definitely not in the picture. Not anymore."

The group turns silent. Suddenly Eve's desperate for the piss-take of it all, wants the banter to continue, the noise of it, because this - this was bordering on pity and she wouldn't have it.

Jess finishes her tonic and thuds the glass down in finality, barging through the awkwardness. "Poor bastard," she says. "It had to end, Eve. He just - didn't get it."

That was exactly it. Except.

"I have to see him tomorrow."

The thought of spending a morning with Niko filled her with dread. A painful meeting with lawyers to hash out the practicalities of divorce, to go through the papers, to sit through a couple of hours of passive aggression and division of assets, to look at his face and see the hurt there, the frustration, the defeat.

Elena looks at her sympathetically. "D'you fancy doing something after?"

On any given day, Eve would. She had plans though, and Elena was smart enough to realise, her eyes sparkling kindly as her mouth widens into a smile.

"Ah. The friend-colleague."

Eve flushes red. She wasn't one to blush. She tries to hide it behind her pint.

"Are these plans I-hope-to-bang-you plans or I've-already-banged-you-and-I-want-to-follow-up-on-it plans?" Jess dead-pans. Eve's absolutely going to murder her.

She flashes her the finger and quickly excuses herself, ducking out to the bathroom to steal a few minutes of solitude and give her phone the proper attention it deserved.

Me:

_Is this your idea of Netflix-and-chill?_

She locks herself in a cubicle and lowers onto the seat. She can finally catch her breath, calm her excitement without having to juggle her friends' inappropriate comments.

Oksana:

_It's not on Netflix._

Eve laughs. They’ll need to sit down and go over British popculture, not that she didn't enjoy the way Oksana sometimes butchered the English language.

Me:

_Not what I meant._

Oksana:

_We can chill. I just want to spend time with you._

She's going to melt. She can feel it, that warm, pulsing sensation in her core that makes her grin like an idiot. She scrapes her hand through her hair and composes herself.

Me:

_Corny._

And then -

Me:

_I want that too. I have to see Niko in the morning - divorce stuff. But after?_

Oksana:

_Divorce breakfast with moustache? Are you okay?_

She was. She was looking forward to getting thigs over and done with, ready to start the next chapter of her life. It was sweet of Oksana to check though - her caring, sensitive side attracted Eve even more, knowing few people were privy to it.

Me:

_Never better. Looking forward to tomorrow._

Oksana:

_Still. I'm sorry. I will make an excellent lunch for you okay? Don't bring anything._

Me:

_Are you seducing me with food again?_

Oksana:

_Yes. Is it working?_

Me:

_Better than you think. Will there be booze?_

Oksana:

_Do you want that?_

Me:

_Think I'll need it._

Oksana:

_To forget? I can help. I am a good distraction._

Eve chews on her lip. Oksana was - the best distraction. More than a distraction really, considering she'd been distracted for the better part of five months. She tries not to let her mind wander. Her pint’s kicked in though and she feels buzzed, lazy and soft at the thought of being around her again.

Me:

_Don't I know it._

Oksana sends a devil emoji. Eve wants to reply with something to-the-point that tells her she's a fantastic kisser, that she's going to think about it all night and want much of the same tomorrow. 

Instead, she fires off a wink and settles on the fact she's nowhere near drunk enough to veer off into sexting territory. Besides, Oksana was clearly a gentlewoman. To a fault. Still, it was painful, having to end their little exchange when all Eve wanted was to pick up the phone and call her.

When she heads back to the table, all three of her friends are expectant. Elena's swirling her straw between the remaining ice cubes in Jess' glass, and Bill sits, pleased, as though he's figured it all out but willing to keep her secret a little longer. 

"Don't think you're off the hook. We're letting you off - for now. But next time we do this, it better be a post-shag catch-up, yeah?" Jess warns her, patting her now near-flat stomach. "I've had to push a watermelon through my vag, I deserve this, Eve. I want all the horny deets. Play-by-play."

Eve necks her pint, already getting up for the next. She hates her friends. She really does. "If I get another round, will you shut the fuck up?"

Jess mulls it over somberly. She rubs her stomach again and it answers Eve's question even before Jess does.

"Honestly? Probably not."


	28. Chapter 28

//

She barely sleeps. With beer-fear fuelling her looming anxiety over meeting Niko in the morning, she ends up watching late-night TV as a distraction from messaging Oksana again.

She has a brief and incredibly tempting urge to shove her hand down her pyjamas just to work through the tension and wear herself out.

She wants to. God, how she wants to.

She tries to think about work. She thinks about her upcoming audits, about a meeting she has scheduled with Carolyn, about Hugo - who she finds decidedly _un_ sexy and who's probably giving Bill a hard time nowdays, about what exactly she needs to ask the lawyers tomorrow. 

Except Oksana stays with her, gnawing away at her, flashing in her mind's eye with her thoughtful texts and soft mouth.

She buries her face into the pillow and lets out the loudest groan she can muster. 

The red numbers on her clock flash _4:57._

When Niko walks out of the office, it feels final. He does it with a hand-shake, a heartbreaking formality that feels as though they've always been strangers.

Eve had wanted to hug him. To apologise. The words had teetered on the tip of her tongue, lack-luster and not-quite-enough, salt in the wound - the idea of saying anything more than goodbye. 

The paperwork had been signed, the realisation that they needn't go through the courts, needn't prolong the misery of it all, a welcome reprieve.

Eve leans against the glass exterior of the building and lights up. She squints at the winter sun through the smoke. The tips of her fingers and nose tingle pleasantly.

She calls Oksana.

"Hi."

"Eve. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she exhales, then takes another long drag.

"Are you smoking?"

"Yeah."

There's silence on the line, swollen with disappointment. Or concern. Eve isn't sure.

"Are you finished with your meeting? I can come to get you, I am just dropping something for Konstantin."

Eve blinks at the lit end of her cigarette, then lets it fall to her feet to crush it into the ground. "No, it's fine, I can just come to you, it's not - "

"You are at Liverpool Street?"

"Oksana - "

"Stay there. I'll be with you in fifteen minutes. I need the walk."

It's thirty minutes by the time Oksana gets to her, though she hardly minds the wait. She spots her tall form hurrying from a mile away. She's walking better, faster, bundled in a black-and-white coat Eve can only describe as _loud_ , a grey beanie covering most of her head. 

"Hello. Sorry I am late," she holds up a paper cup, "it's hot chocolate. I think you need it."

Eve knows she's going to start associating chocolate and coffee with her, and wonders whether she'll have a racing heart now every time someone mentions Starbucks.

She takes the drink. She's cold. And upset, surprisingly, but mostly cold. Oksana gives her a sad smile as she sips, hazel eyes careful and somber over the cup's edge. 

"Are you okay?"

Eve shrugs. "Honestly? I don't know," she stares at their reflections in the building opposite. "I - thought I would be? I mean, I am. I'm fine. It's just - "

"A big thing."

"Yeah."

Oksana takes a gulp of her own drink. She's bare-faced, sleepy-looking and approachable and Eve wants to hug her in the bright light of day, to drown herself in her warmth. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She lets out a short, humourless laugh. "Definitely not."

She feels Oksana's gloved hand reach for her, press into the thick material of her coat to rub over her arm. Soft gusts of breath curl from her lips into the January air and lead Eve to her mouth, nude-pink against her pale skin.

Oksana smiles at her. "You know," she says, dropping her hand to her sleeve and then gently pulling away, "you are allowed to feel shit, Eve. You don't have to pretend with me. I will like you just the same."

Eve had felt a lot of things around Oksana: anger, intrigue, frustration, affection, upset, to name a few, but never had she felt the need to pretend.

"I know that. And - I'm not."

"And we can - take the rain check - "

"Take _a_ rain-check," Eve corrects gently, fondly, feels her bad mood lift with Oksana's sheepish look. 

" _A_ rain-check," she mimics, laughing. 

"But - I don't want to."

"No," Oksana nods. She has her lip clamped between her teeth so her cheeks dimple. Eve has to cradle her cup with both hands just so she doesn't reach up and touch them, though she knows Oksana would let her.

She takes Oksana's arm and links in so they can fall in step, threading through East London's skyscrapers as they morph into warehouses and start-up buildings that lead them to Shoreditch. 

Somewhere along the way, she gathers the courage to lace their fingers, the leather of Oksana's glove smooth and frustrating against her palm.

Oksana doesn't look at her but her mouth curves in a wide grin at the contact - Eve catches it at a side-glance. She's practically beaming. It mirrors exactly how she feels on the inside.

"What happened to that asshole I met in the summer?" she teases.

Oksana gives her an innocent look. "What are you talking about?"

"You know - super stubborn? Made my life a living hell?"

Her eyes widen so much, Eve could probably count the green flecks in them if they stopped walking and she gave it a try.

Oksana spins to block the way. The light catches her just-so, half-sun and half-shadow, the tips of her hair glowing around the collar of her coat. Eve stares.

"Be serious."

"I am! You can be a real dick."

"Not with you."

"Sure," Eve insists, "even with me. Before."

Oksana sobers. She juts her lip in a half-pout, stepping into Eve's space. "Never with you."

"Really."

"Not intentionally."

"Why?"

She shrugs her mouth. "Why, what?"

"Why never with me? Not like I wasn't asking for it."

Oksana chuckles. She resumes their walk, latching onto Eve's hand to lead her. For a moment, it feels like she might not get an answer. It irks her.

They hurry along - Oksana's deceptively fast despite her injury, mostly thanks to her height which Eve often loathes, but only when they argue. She's about to tell her to slow down, take a breath, when she's tugged into a passageway, the brick rough against her back as she's pressed into it, breathless.

"What are you - "

Oksana rests a hand beside her head, leans in with a disbelieving, amused look on her face. 

"Eve."

"What - "

"For a highly intelligent woman, sometimes you are very stupid."

Eve fights not to sulk. It's easy, because most of her is filled with the opposite of sulking anyway. She feels like she'd float off if it weren't for Oksana's focussed, open gaze pinning her in place. 

"You are also excellent at ruining the moment."

She grumbles then. "Not true."

She watches Oksana lick her mouth. Her beanie lies low on her forehead and she reaches for it, pushes it up to get a better look just as Oksana spares her, tilting down to kiss her with that fierce determination she did everything with.

Eve pushes back. Her hands wonder up into blonde hair and the hat drops to the floor.

She doesn't feel nervous this time, just wanting, ravenous for Oksana's attentive mouth and the sure, easy way it slides against her own over and over until she can't remember which way is up, her knees buckling in Oksana's hold. She's not quite ready for it to end yet, not quite ready to see the storm in Oksana's eyes so she moves back in, seeks out the thrill and the soft _smack_ of their kiss, drowned by the thundering in her ears and Oksana's lovely breath see-sawing as it comes and goes against her cheeks.

She curls her arms around Oksana's neck, the feel of gloved hands against her face strange and comforting in equal measure. 

When she pulls back, it's only a gasping, delighted inch, Oksana's eyes brimming with mirth.

"Are you hungry?"

She bubbles with laughter, because, of course Oksana would be thinking about food and yes, she's starving, in all the ways she possibly can be. She nods, savouring the way Oksana pushes their foreheads together, keen to make the moment last, charming her with whisper-promises of homemade pasta.

The walk to the flat lasts a lifetime. 

Everything around Eve seems hyper-present, like she's tripping on acid.

The sky is brighter, saturated almost, the buildings silver as the sun glints off them, the sounds loud but soft compared to Oksana's voice. It all sears into Eve's memory and she knows, that months and years from now, in a different time or even a different city, she'll know exactly where she was, when it was that her heart left a sinking ship and jumped on another.

Oksana makes jokes about her physiotherapist and holds her hand tight.

She looks at her every now and then in a way that makes her feel like no one's ever looked at her before, like she's a brand new thing for Oksana's eyes only, like she's wanted and longed after but in that careful way they've both gotten so good at. 

They stop briefly in Oksana's neighbourhood, to look at the street art and visit her favourite bookshop. Eve makes a note to come again, to buy something special. She watches Oksana's hands, long, clever fingers skipping over book spines and knick-knacks.

They go to pick up flowers and buy milk - errands that fill Oksana with an endless humanity Eve's smitten by. 

She feels different, entering the apartment with Oksana beside her. Feels less of a guest.

It's familiar and homely, easy, watching Oksana put away the groceries and fill a vase with water, eyes dark between the folded buds. Eve waits for her, then rounds the corner of the dining table, the distance between them too much.

The flowers smell like her. Or was it the other way around?

"Do you know some lilies have edible bulbs? They are used a lot, actually, in Korean - "

She pulls Oksana away from the bouquet, fitting her hands around her waist, her startled smile filling Eve with temporary courage. "Don't talk," she says lowly, nudging them gently against the sturdy oak, Oksana's mouth open and flushed as she leans to kiss her. "Don't talk," she whispers and finally, finally lets herself give in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

//

Oksana sighs against her mouth, pulling away.

"Wait, Eve -"

"No," Eve whines, tilting for another kiss, cut short by fingers on her chin and a nose brushing gently against her own.

"This is the divorce talking."

It wasn't. Well, maybe. To an extent, but only in the best way. She was un-married now, free to do as she pleased, free to be herself, to be with whomever she wanted, free to act on desires she'd spent months on end bottling up.

She shakes her head, opening her eyes to stare into Oksana's. She clears her throat but still sounds hoarse when she says, "Oksana, I swear to god -"

"It's okay to be upset," Oksana says softly, like she's talking to a child and _Christ_ , it's infuriating, and sexy - how patient she's being - and it absolutely, one-hundred-percent drives Eve up the wall. "You have had a long day and I think we should -"

" _Stop_. I get it! You're looking out for me. You _always_ look out for me, even when I don't deserve it," she says breathlessly, "but, I _can't_ any more _._ I've waited for _so long_ and it's not because of Niko or because of the divorce or because of work - and I _swear,_ on my life, if you don't let this happen, if you don't let me kiss you while I still have the balls, I think I might physically combust. I'm going to lose my mind. I want this, I want _you_ , I've wanted this since -" she lets out a sharp sigh.

She can see the beginnings of a smile, cocky-flattered, hiding behind Oksana's eyes. She pulls her closer.

"You're sure."

" _Oksana_."

"I have to check."

Eve looks her dead in the eye, both hands on her face to prove a point. "Take me to bed," she says, and this time, her voice wavers not one bit.

The move through the flat is a bit of a haphazard waltz as they navigate the furniture towards Oksana's bedroom.

Eve doesn't pull away, doesn't dare, not this time. She keeps the kiss going, guided only by the hands around her waist and then under her coat and beneath her cardigan, deft fingers toying along the buttons that come with it.

She tries to help. She does. She gets as far as shrugging her parka off before she's pushed against a wall, Oksana's weight firm, her posture tall but stooped to accommodate the height difference. She should be annoyed but she finds it sinfully sexy - Oksana bending down to please her.

Her cardigan gets caught on her watch and Oksana laughs into her mouth as she moves onto the buttons of her shirt. Eve uses all her willpower to stop those wandering hands.

She's panting. She's sticky with sweat and her heart beats tight and fast between her thighs. All she can see is Oksana and her infuriating smile and fragments of her bed, right behind her, waiting to be ruined.

"Okay?" Oksana whispers.

Eve feels lips against her cheek, and then down towards her jaw. They vie for her attention but she's undeterred, set on catching up as she tugs at Oksana's turtle neck, taken with the way Oksana lifts her arms, obedient.

She pulls. She laughs when Oksana's head gets stuck, rendering her blind and helpless just for a moment, long enough for Eve to take a sheepish look at her breasts before she helps her out of it.

Oksana's eyes are dark and unimpressed though her mouth curves upward. Static fly-aways frame her face.

Eve smooths them down with a smile. "Sorry."

She lets herself be kissed, and then undressed, too lit up to think about her nerves, though they're present, vibrant under Oksana's palms.

When her shirt is off and her pants unbuttoned, Oksana stops to stare at her.

She's never felt more naked in her life.

Oksana looks at her with want and danger behind her gaze. She'd seen a shadow of that look before - over the operating table and at Konstantin's, but it shines now like a forest-fire and she knows it's going to burn her alive.

She swallows. "Get on the bed."

Oksana laughs. "Walk before you run, Eve."

She's gorgeous and it's unfair. Eve wants to see her laid out on her cotton sheets, wants to see her take direction. "Bed."

There's a glint from Oksana's teeth as they come down on her bottom lip, her eyes full of mirth, impressed even as she steps back.

"Lie down."

She does, slowly, crawling up to the pillows to give Eve a good view of her muscled back, the notches of her spine, the dimples nestled at the base, her ass. When she's done putting on a show, she gloats, lifting her arms in a half-stretch. "Are you coming to join me?"

Eve nods. There's a tight lump in her throat, her cheeks coal-hot. She can barely find the energy to stand, the picture of Oksana waiting for her entirely disarming but not-quite-enough. She looks and looks and looks.

"Then come here."

She scrapes her hair back. Her hands shake. She stays at the foot of the bed. Oksana practically bats her eyelashes up at her.

"Are you scared?"

Eve chews on her thumbnail. "No."

"No," Oksana coos, beaming, done with her little charade as she moves to bring Eve closer, on her knees to seek out her mouth. "Because it's just me."

 _Just_ her. She doesn't get time to answer, only lets out a moan-sigh-yes as hot fingers crawl across her cool back, smoothing over her goose flesh, up, up, up to the snap of her bra and then around, beneath the loosened cups with curious hands.

She groans.

Oksana preens. "Are you loud in bed, Eve?"

The words send lightning bolts between her legs. She struggles not to rub her thighs together, longs to say something clever, like _Why don't you find out_ but there's already a mouth on her, firm, thorough as it licks a path across her sensitive skin. She moans instead, Oksana's chuckle smothered by her breasts.

When she looks down, Oksana's looking up at her with blown pupils and flushed cheeks, hair mussed but eyes bright and alert, and Eve knows they're going to be her undoing.

She's helped out of her slacks, feels her heart start to hammer when Oksana kisses above her navel and then lower, skimming the edge of her underwear, inhaling greedily and then nipping at her hip.

"Take these off and come join me," she says softly. She looks giddy, impatient where Eve stutteres, confidence draining under Oksana's hungry eyes as they watch her undress, lingering on her breasts and then between her legs. She doesn't miss the way Oksana licks her mouth.

She wants her rid of her jeans and the rest.

She wants the reins back, wants Oksana to let her have this because - well, she's older, she's her boss, she's new at this, she deserves a head-start.

She wants her naked, wants to see what she looks like, whether dream-Oksana matches up with reality.

Oksana doesn't let her have any of it.

"Eve," she warns. Another thrill rattles through her. "Don't make me wait."

She's trembling all over. She wonders if it's visible because from the inside, it feels like she might shatter into a million pieces before they've even touched. She can't remember the last time she felt like this: anxious and turned on beyond belief, terrified and wet and _seen_.

She moves to join Oksana, greeted with a gentle kiss that turns dirty as she's positioned over a firm thigh, anchored by strong, slender fingers.

The jeans are expensive. Eve knows that. She tries to acknowledge it, tries to pivot away, mindful of the injured knee, but Oksana shushes her, the denim rough and hard as she grinds down.

"Fuck."

"Hmm," Oksana smiles, her grip tightening.

Eve does it again, thrusts slowly, lets out a noise she barely recognises as Oksana urges her over and over. She's so close already. She shuts her eyes and stills, squeezing her fingers over Oksana's own. Her breath sounds ragged as she chases after it, wheezy in her chest.

She feels movement beneath her and realises Oksana's jostling them around.

She's barely registered what's happening before Oksana's looking up at her from the pillow, taking her by the wrist with a low _'On top'_.

"Oksana - "

"Let yourself go, _malysh_ ," she says, her voice gravelly and then gone as she places Eve over her, palms to the backs of her thighs and no, she definitely can't do this, hadn't even dreamt she might, hadn't entertained the fantasy, can't possibly -

The air rushes out of her in one fell swoop.

"Oksana - "

There's a soft growl somewhere between her legs, and then all she feels is the strong press of Oksana's tongue on her and fingers, curled roughly inside her, two and then three, so quick that she becomes only heat, thick and fast and sore and burbling as Oksana looks up at her with her knowing eyes and her diligent mouth.

Eve lets it happen. She can see their moving reflection, lewd and languid inside the mirror on Oksana's floor. She watches it, captivated, then snaps back as Oksana moans into her.

She thinks about the possibility that she might accidentally kill her by asfixiation, then remembers that Oksana's probably done this before, and the brief flash of jealousy sends another thrum between her legs. She presses down harder.

"Fuck. Fuck. I can't -"

Oksana nods against her. Doubles her efforts to prove a point. Lifts a hand up to rub at a nipple.

 _Persistent asshole_.

Eve presses her own palm against the hand at her breast, arching into the warmth of it.

She feels herself build and build until she thinks she might not go any higher. She can feel it in her toes. Christ, she can feel it in the backs of her eyes.

Oksana whines against her.

She reaches down to stroke the top of her head.

"Fuck, God, _fuck -_ " the words stick in her throat and her orgasm hits, quickly and unexpectedly, thundering through her like a race-horse until she's gasping and shaking against the headboard and her thighs tighten and then buckle on either side of Oksana's face and Oksana's licking her through the aftershocks with hooded eyes and swollen lips.

She musters the remnants of her strength to slide off, sighing as she watches Oksana wipe her chin, sucking her fingers clean in a way that's not crude, not deliberate, just practical, easy. It makes her ache.

"Oh, _God,_ " she groans into her hands.

"What?"

" _Nothing_."

"What?" Oksana says, more worried this time, turning to face her, pawing at her fingers to get a look at her.

"Is that - does that - " Eve cringes, mortified. "That was - _quick_."

Oksana bursts into loud, pleased laughter, then rolls onto her back, arms beneath her head as she flashes a grin. "I am very good in bed."

"Shut _up_ ," Eve smacks her. "I haven't - Jesus, I haven't come like that in - " she sighs. Had she ever?

Oksana's looking at her, amused and happy and smug, in her black bra and her fitted jeans Eve's never going to live down making a mess of. "You _are_ loud."

"Stop."

"You make very pretty sounds when you come," she says gently.

Eve wants to kiss her. 

She leans in to run her thumb over Oksana's lips, over the sharp angle of her chin, the round apple of her cheek. "Stop. Just - stop," she says fondly, savouring the gleeful look Oksana gives her before they kiss, soft and slow and overdue.

"What time is it?"

The world outside is black. They should probably close the curtains. Eve glances to her watch and realises they've definitely missed lunch.

"Seven."

Oksana stretches. She looks soft, tangled in the sheets with that bedside lamp honey-glow.

"I will make dinner."

"I think you've done enough," Eve laughs, reaching for her phone. She swipes across to Deliveroo, then hides the screen from Oksana who snuggles in to rest her head against her chest.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting pizza."

"That's not very healthy."

"No. It isn't. But considering you've just made me burn - oh - two-thousand calories?" Eve shrugs, "I think you can let me off."

Oksana cocks her head, kissing her breastbone and then the side of her neck. "You smell good. And, okay. This once. You will need the energy later," she says seductively, looking up with a sweet smile.

Eve presses her free hand to her face, smoothing her brow and then tracing the shell of her ear.

"You're going to ruin me."

Oksana's eyes brighten with mischief. She turns to bite at her fingers. "Yes. I hope so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people seemed upset that Eve didn't fuck Oksana, literally 3 hours after signing her divorce papers and 15 years of heterosexual marriage, mind you. Hop off 💁

//

She's bursting at the seams.

The last two days had given her less than ten hours' sleep and little to no caffeine, but she can't quite bring herself to care.

She feels new, envigorated.

Between lazy hours spent in Oksana's bed and the occasional trip to the kitchen/bathroom, she'd somehow persuaded herself to venture back home for a fresh change of clothes and some toiletries.

She'd instantly missed Oksana's apartment, its open-plan nestled in warmth.

Her own house had greeted her half-heartedly, dark and devoid of Niko's belongings, the heating turned off and the shelves cleared out.

It made her want to smoke, stopped only by the endorphins still rushing through her and the fact that Oksana made sure to confiscate the cigarettes both in her work bag and her coat.

Despite it all, she finds herself starting her week with a spring in her step and a disregard for the unwelcoming crowds on her commute. She even picks up coffees and baked goods for the nursing staff.

The ward's already bustling, the clock just shy of half-seven by the time she's found clean scrubs and sorted out her hair.

She leaves the bags at the nursing station and quickly finds Kenny supervising the juniors as they get ready for drug rounds.

"Morning, team!"

Kenny turns. He raises a brow at her colourful mood. She takes it in stride.

"Pastries! By the computers."

A new HCA Eve hadn't met before turns, keen but a little weary.

After all, Eve's reputation did precede her.

"I don't bite," she grins, reaching to grab Kenny's arm. She smacks him when he dead-pans, a grumbled _yes, she does_ falling under his breath just before she drags him out of the clinical room by the sleeve. "I need you for ward round."

He checks his fob watch, frowning in askance before Eve explains: her new junior didn't get in 'til half-eight - still an improvement on Hugo's ten a.m. starts - and she needed efficiency today.

"Came early. Killer op list. Let's smash this and then I'll leave you alone, alright? Here," she shoves a latte in his face, "double shot - to perk you up! Come along!"

The ward round's done in twenty. She sees every single one of her patients for the day. She's thorough, quick but polite, ignoring the buzzing phone in her back pocket, and Kenny's protests as he struggles to rummage through the consent forms and jot down all her instructions.

With the final bay visited, she swipes the last coffee left and makes a dash towards theatres, throwing Kenny an over-the-shoulder promise to help him with his prescriber's exam at lunch.

She dodges past the crawling lifts and takes a moment to check her phone.

Oksana:

_I'm waiting for you. Induction 3. Konstantin is not here yet._

There's a wink and a sheepish monkey and Eve doesn't bother replying because she breaks into a run, breathless from six flights of stairs and pure excitement at seeing Oksana at work for the first time since - well.

She bites back a grin as she swings through the double-doors to find her in _that_ theatre hat, prepping the drugs for their first patient.

"Hi."

Oksana turns. She wears a knowing smile. She drops what she's doing and leans against the cupboards as Eve steps up to her, giddy with anticipation.

"Hello."

"Hi," Eve nods, giving the empty room a quick glance before sneaking her hands onto Oksana's waist. She smells like disinfectant and rubber and Eve finds it doesn't stop her one bit from moving onto her tiptoes and seeking out Oksana's happy mouth.

The kiss is warm, brief, a little nerve-wracking and then thriling, that someone might find them like this. Eve moves to pull away but careful fingers catch her, tucking into the collar of her scrubs to brush the naked skin beneath.

The second kiss is firm, open, hot beneath the induction room lights. It floods Eve to her core, rewakening her muscle memory as she licks gently into Oksana's mouth.

She rocks Oksana into the counter. She has the urge to lift her onto the surface, to swipe away the glass vials and plastic syringes and give as good as she got, but Oksana's laughing against her teeth before she can, and the sound is sweet and annoying and snaps her back to reality.

"You are going to get me fired." Oksana says, as if it were a challenge, as if she actually means, _I'd like to see you try._

Eve would - she'd pictured it so many times throughout her waning marriage - and now that she'd finally put a gorgeous face to that fantasy stranger, she finds herself almost willing to risk it all.

Almost.

She traces the remnants of their kiss along Oksana's mouth, then gives her a fleeting peck just as Konstantin parts the doors and wheels the first patient in.

"Good morning."

"Morning."

Eve hadn't seen much of him in the New Year. They'd passed each other, little and often, but hadn't exchanged words, Eve finding herself mute and embarrassed each time they crossed paths.

He gives her a cautious smile, eyes flicking to Oksana and then back as he moves towards the intubating equipment and waits for Oksana to set up the rest.

The distance between them remains professional, though Eve feels a magnetic, almost irresistible pull.

Now that she'd seen a side to Oksana nobody else got, everything she did endeared her, piqued her curiosity, her lovely hands sorting through the drugs like Braille, eyes fleeting between Konstantin's busied form and Eve's enamoured one.

It seems like a million miles across the room then, when she's finally under the operating lights and Oksana's sat with Konstantin by her side, working through exam questions.

She answers them confidently but her attention keeps straying and Eve catches it every few minutes, grateful for the mask that hides her blush.

The back-forth takes them through the second and third sugeries.

Eve does her job flawlessly, because she's good at it and it's second nature. Physically, her body's taut, leant over the patient's ankle as she works, equipment firm in her grip and handled with precision.

Mentally, she's back in Oksana's bedroom, sprawled and sleepy after the umpteenth orgasm and a quick bite to eat. She still feels it - the press of Oksana's hands against her ribcage as she'd turned to make room for kisses to her back; the warm breath against her thighs and then her breasts and then her mouth, see-sawing to their rhythm; the smooth expanse of Oksana's skin, her body cocooned against Eve's as they'd waited for sun-up.

She feels a lump in her throat. It catches her unawares and she splutters, coughing into her mask as her shoulders constrict with the effort.

"You need a drink?" Konstantin looks over. She waves him off but he goes on, much to her relief. "Maybe later? When was the last time we went to drink?"

 _A month and four days ago,_ Eve thinks. Instead, she sets her instruments aside, motioning to the scrub nurse to take a break.

"It's been a while."

"Sure. We used to do it all of the time."

"I don't think my liver can handle you."

Konstantin laughs his belly-laugh. Eve watches him glance to Oksana who studies her textbook with exaggerated interest, stopping only briefly to raise a playful brow.

Eve relaxes.

"You hold your own, Eve. My friends - they love you. You are one of us now."

"Russian?"

"Almost," he grins. "We will teach you to drink vodka. You are very," he waves his hand vaguely, " _flowery_. Champagne - and wine - and -"

" _Beer_ ," Eve says pointedly, proudly. She never was one for strong liquor, though with Elena, she found herself partial to a tequila. Or five.

"Yes, very bold," Konstantin says somberly, reaching over to fiddle with the dials. "But it was good fun - no? The party."

Eve knows what he's doing. He's fishing. He's fishing because he's no longer staring at her, but at Oksana, waiting for her to lift her head from her book and acknowledge him.

She doesn't, of course. She turns the page and gives a non-committal hum, delighted when he nudges her.

"Your daughter is very annoying."

"You are changing the subject," he chuckles.

Eve bites back a grin. "How about dinner instead? Pub roast - nothing fancy. I'm trying out dry Jan and I really could do without your tempting me. You got a free weekend?"

Except not this weekend. Nor the next. She was on-call for some of it, and for the rest - she had better plans. Oksana seems to catch on because she throws a look, careful but suggestive and it makes Eve want to cancel everything for the next month.

"Irina has a recital on Saturday but - the next one? I am also happy to cook - fish, steak. Whatever you want. It is Valentine's Day," he winks, "but we can practise the vodka. Very romantic. Oksana will come too."

"Gross," Oksana growls.

Eve smiles into her mask. She busies herself with instructions for the scrub nurse to pass her the right suturing kit - the rest of the surgery was a walk in the park.

She moves on auto-pilot and thinks about Oksana's reaction.

Valentine's Day was a no-go, she agreed. She hated manufactured holidays more than anything - the thought of roses and teddies and cliched acts of love sickened her to her core. Lucky for her, she had a string of nights lined up to ensure she was well and trully knackered to do anything anyway.

Still, she wonders if a date would be completely off the cards.

She looks up to Konstantin and shrugs. "I'm working Valentine's, but - maybe the following week?"

"At this rate, Eve, we will be seeing each other in the summer. You are blowing me."

Oksana bursts out laughing, the slam of her book punctuating her cackle. She holds her hand up to stop Eve, reclining in her chair with legs crossed like Konstantin's. "Wait - Even I know that one. You are blowing me _off_. 'Blowing me' is something - very different."

Konstantin shrugs, impartial. "You will have a smart mouth until you are running for emergencies on your bad leg and then you will be in the shit," he says gently, swiping Oksana's book to grill her some more for showing him up.

Eve watches the exchange while she finishes stitching, amused when, after only a few minutes, Oksana's eyes lift to hers once more and she winks, oblivious to Konstantin and his chatter as he turns to the next page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desperately trying to finish this before s3 airs, with no end in sight.

//

She actually spends Valentine's Day recovering from work and eating take-away in bed.

Around noon, she works up the courage to make a trip to IKEA - she lies and tells Oksana she's going to Habitat, then convinces herself to spruce up her sofas with something less functional and more luxurious ASAP.

She arms herself with a tape measure and an XL portion of meatballs, and fully throws herself into re-furnishing her house: a new bed and couch first, then new sheets, towels, cushions - soft furnishings that still lingered with Niko, his absence looming heavy over her.

Eve wanted to get a good night's sleep without smelling him, wanted to watch TV without the ghost of him, wanted to have Oksana over without the constant reminder of who had preceded her.

She groans and reaches for the most expensive silk sheets she can find.

Oksana sends her selfies of her and Konstantin in clinic to keep her entertained. He looks like he's at the end of his tether and Eve laughs as she stares at his miserable face, ignoring Oksana's demands to vet each piece of furniture before she commits to anything.

Me:

_It'll have to be a surprise._

Oksana:

_Are you inviting me over?_

Me:

_I never said that._

Oksana:

_It's Valentine's Day. (puke emoji) We will have to postpone._

Eve rolls her eyes. She'd made plans, anyway.

Me:

_Of course. I have a date tonight._

No response comes for several long minutes. The three dots appear and disappear, once, twice. Regret washes over her. Sometimes her humour struggled to translate in text and Oksana's semi-confident grasp on the English language hardly helped, but was adorable.

Oksana:

_?_

Me:

_With Elena._

Had she mentioned Elena before? In her mind, the two had already met. In her wishful thinking, Oksana was already fully integrated into her life, into her friendships and her home and her free time.

She hardly talked about her friends though, and Oksana had a social circle all of her own, which very much remained separate, so.

Me:

_Best friend. Worked in Geries with Bill, then went onto research RIP._

Oksana:

_Booooring. (yawn emoji, coffin emoji)_

Eve relaxes against her trolley, her apprehension floating away like steam.

Me:

_We're just having dinner -_

Her phone rings before she's managed to fire it off and she basks in the amused smile that filters through Oksana's voice.

"Eve. You don't have to justify yourself. You should see your friends. Go and have fun, drink, get crazy, let that beautiful hair down, tell Elena how amazing I am."

She laughs. The thought of talking about her new, somewhat unconventional love life filled her with nerves. She had high suspicions Elena already had a clue - they were open books with each other and seeing her at the pub hadn't exactly helped her case.

The understanding Oksana was showing her though - a stark contrast to Niko's pushiness, his constant need to know her whereabouts - sparks something joyful inside her and she nods into her phone as she pushes her trolley towards the check-out.

"So, I know I'm not seeing you today becase - _ew_ ," she scoffs, Oksana's soft _yes_ happy and breathless on the line, "but fancy coming round, I don't know..." she aims for casual but she's dying to see her again, dying to get to know more and more of her because it's never enough, never quite -

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes. Is that - does that work?"

"I will come over tomorrow to see your new, sexy furniture. But no flowers. Or chocolates. No romance."

"Christ, no," Eve says, but she's grinning and Oksana's laughing and she understands, finally and whole-heartedly and welcomingly, that she's well and trully fucked.

"- And he's German, which normally wouldn't work for me, because - " and here, Elena makes a face and Eve giggles, taking another sip of her wine, "but he's like - _really_ good in bed, and he's _clean_ ," her eyes sparkle, "and fuck me, Eve," she lowers her voice as she leans across the table, "he's got the fittest knob I've ever -"

" _Shut_ the fuck up!"

"What? It's _glorious_. It doesn't like, bend, and the tip's this lovely shade of carnation pink and his balls -"

"I swear to God, Elena, one more and I'm walking out, I'm literally going to walk the fuck on out of here -"

Elena clicks her tongue. "My resolution was to get dicked down, and I got dicked down," she shrugs, spooning her crème brûlée generously and then grinning with her mouth half-full. Eve's going to murder her. She did not need graphic descriptions of strangers' dicks, as helpful as that side-track was. Unfortunately it doesn't last long, because Elena changes topics like she does cocktail choice.

"So."

Eve tries her best poker face.

Elena laughs, then leans forward with a careful smile. "There's a someone."

She stares into her dessert. The dessert stares back. She stabs her fork straight through it.

"Eve."

"I thought the cheesecake looked good. It's actually - " she grimaces at her plate. Elena's having none of it.

"Right. I'll talk. There's a someone," she repeats. She doesn't go on until Eve finally chooses to look up, her heart in her stomach despite Elena's adoring, knowing smile. "And they've really got your knickers in a twist, because I haven't seen you this happy since Bill stripped to Boy George."

Eve loved that memory.

She silently begs Elena to talk more about it, to remind her of how fun that night was, the three of them in his flat, blind-drunk on home-made Jaeger bombs and happiness. Alas.

"Mate, it's so _bloody_ obvious. _He_ sees it. Jess hasn't piped down about it. I'm wracking my brain trying to figure out what's going on and you've been schtum on the goss and it's _killing_ me." She's pouting now. It makes it so much harder.

"You're not even close."

"Lies and slander," Elena grins. "You're red. You can't even look me in the eye! Tell me or I walk."

"There's nothing to tell."

"So you've not been texting this special someone all the pissing time? You've not been sneaking into work at the arse-crack of dawn just to -"

"Who -"

"Kenny," Elena shrugs. "Anyway, irrelevant. You're _so_ into this. Saucy. Older or younger?"

"Stop."

"Younger. Wow. _O_ -kay. Well done."

"Elena -"

"Same department or different?"

"I'm not doing this, can we just -"

"Hmm. Unclear. Have I met them before?"

Eve groans in frustration, pressing her palms into her eyes to hide her embarrassment.

"Would I think they were attractive?"

 _You already do_ , Eve thinks but doesn't dare vocalise. She nods her head mutely. She waits for the question, the one Elena's desperate to ask, but it hangs between them.

After a long moment of silence, she pulls her hands away to find Elena swirling her wine glass nonchalantly as if none of their conversation happened.

She muddles through a bite of cheesecake and waits for Elena's verdict.

"I know you, Eve. You're my best mate, the bestest in the entire world. I'd give you my kidney."

"Er - thanks."

"So it goes without saying, I love you, yadda yadda," she waves her hand vaguely, "and you should tell me 'cos I'm really good at like - giving advice and stuff."

That was true. That had always been true and it would be so easy to spill, to lay all her cards on the table and let Elena analyse them between tips on things she'd very clearly missed (dating, flirting, seduction) and missed out on (lesbian sex, for the most part, which Elena probably couldn't help with - or, maybe?).

She empties her glass and pushes her food away.

"It's someone at work."

"Yeah. Got that, dickhead," Elena nods sagely. She runs her finger across her empty plate and sucks the remnants of her pudding off. "And you've - y'know," she wiggles her eyebrows, her eyes full of excitement.

Eve shrinks in her seat. "Yeah."

"Oh my _God_! Oh my _actual_ God. I didn't actually think - _Eve_. _Yes_. Get yours, hon, fucking _finally_."

Eve watches her squeal in her seat, and debates on telling her the rest for fear they might get kicked out. "Was it - is it - you know, compared to - Niko and...two decades of the same ol' p in v -"

"Good. Fine. Yes."

"Good, fine, yes?" Elena frowns.

"Oh, _God_."

"And are we talking - carnation pink or more of like, a, like a lavender pink or you know, like a shade of brown -"

Eve desperately looks around for a waiter. There's none in sight. She's ready for the bill.

"Okay, so not brown then. In fact, scrap that. Talk to me about the bod. Six pack? Dad bod? Dad bod's alright, but that 'V' in the hips - _ugh_ \- it's like, pointing down to the dick and you _know_ it's going to be..." she trails off.

Eve tongues her teeth, watching Elena put the pieces together. The pause is unbearable. And then. " _Wait_."

"No."

"Wait."

"No, Elena, come on, can we just - "

" _Wait_. I'm thinking."

"Please - "

"I'm going to kill you. I'm actually going to - Are you _serious_? You can't be serious."

Maybe this wasn't the best idea. Elena's looking at her and there's expectation there and disbelief and definitely disappointment and Eve feels horrible, mortified that this is how it's going to go and there's that lump in her throat and -

"This?" Elena stage-whispers, then not so discretely locks her index and middle fingers together and moves them quickly until Eve reaches over and slaps her. "You're doing _this_? And you haven't told me? Why the hell haven't you told me?"

"I didn't - I'm not - we're not doing - _ugh_. It's - complicated, I've only just - "

"Fucked. A woman."

"No. _No_. For fuck's sake, it's not just about the - I mean. It _is_. It's - the sex is," Eve sighs. Oksana appears, naked and in the forefront of her mind and she reaches for the table water to wash her away.

"Amazing," Elena says helpfully.

"But it's - new, _really_ new, and - "

"No shit. Unless Niko snuck in a threesome I wasn't aware of, which let's be honest - no."

"And I don't know what I'm doing and I feel - I feel _good_ , and it's easy with her and overwhelming and terrifying and fun and - I have _no_ idea what I'm doing," she says, heat blossoming beneath her collar and crawling up her neck.

Elena scissors her fingers together again. "With this?" she gestures and Eve dies a little more. "Or with - " she moves to stick her tongue between her fingers and Eve shoves her underneath the table.

"You're an absolute wanker."

"Yes," Elena nods. She turns to flag the waiter, ordering another bottle Eve's going to regret, before throwing herself back into the conversation. "And you're not. I'm literally _dying_ to know who she is. Eve Plastri: full time sapphic and trauma extraodinaire," she frames Eve's name with her hands and winks through them. "I hope you're ready to actually come on a regular basis."

"Can we not."

"Jokes aside, my yoga teacher's a lezza if you want me to get some tips or - I mean, there's always Reddit or the ever-popular Pornhub or Feminist porn, which, turns out, is a legit thing nowdays."

"Elena."

"Just think about what you like and then - do it to her."

"Elena."

"Flick the bean. Polish the pearl. Tickle the -"

"I'm going home."

Elena cackles. She wraps her legs around Eve's ankles to keep her seated and goes to pour more wine. "We have this poor bastard to get through," she waves the bottle, "so why don't you park your bum and start from the beginning, yeah?"

It's almost midnight. Elena's not going to let her go until every single thing she'd neglected to mention comes to light.

She takes a generous gulp of her drink, removes her blazer, and, defeated and a little tipsy, begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignore the chapter numbering, it's gone to shit.

//

It's late Sunday when Oksana finally comes round.

She shows up a whole two hours late and Eve opens the door to find her on the porch, miserable, despondent and back on crutches.

"What the hell happened?"

She doesn't get an answer, only some wrinkled flowers fished out of Oksana's backpack and handed over with a half-hearted look.

It's comedy gold, except Oksana's never this late and never this rude - at least not to Eve - so the interaction sits unevenly balanced between them.

"Wow, that's - very romantic of you," Eve tries gently and ushers them out of the rain, careful not to squish her bouquet as she helps relieve Oksana of her coat, and then tries not to feel offended when Oksana rejects her offer to help untie her Grensons.

She watches Oksana adjust her crutches, ready to be guided through the house. She's still sulking, even when Eve touches her, but it's a facade, Eve knows, and it won't take more than a drink and some sweet words to break it.

She tries not to dwell too much. She directs them slowly down the hall to the living room, chest twisting a little tighter every time she hears the tap of crutch-against-floor behind her.

There was no sense pushing it. Oksana would talk when she was ready, and chasing would only clam her up.

She decides on a different approach. "So, the new furniture's in transit, but - I bought a new microwave? And a TV. And some cushions. Oh - and a shit-tonne of sheets, some towels, those pots - small things," she rambles, gesturing to the space around her - less depressing now that she'd injected some colour and greenery in.

She moves into the kitchen to set the flowers in water.

Oksana leans against the counter obediently. She still bristles, but her eyes wander over Eve's things, careful and interested and appreciative, and Eve basks in it, enjoying the attention she now had, as frosty as it was.

"I like your house."

Eve brightens. "Yeah? Even my shitty IKEA sofas?"

"No, not the sofas," Oksana says flatly and it makes Eve laugh. She tries so desperately to remain hidden under her grey cloud and Eve finds it endearing and hilarious in equal measure. "There is some left-over champagne," she reaches for an unopened bottle of Veuve Clicquot in her bag.

Eve wonders how the hell someone ends up with spare champagne lying around (not that she's complaining - Oksana was being the epitome of romantic, despite what they'd agreed and her somewhat clumsy delivery).

She sinks with the realisation that she forgot to buy champagne glasses. Forgot to buy any glassware at all. She stares at her kitchen counter and deflates when she's forced to reach for a pair Sainsbury's mugs.

"I only have..."

Lucky for her, it's the one thing that manages to tease a smile onto Oksana's mouth. It curves to one side, sheepish, gaze thawing as she hands the bottle over.

"No - it's - perfect," she smirks.

Eve passes her a mug, clinking them but not drinking from her own. She studies Oksana. She looks tired, glistening with post-work-out sweat but still beautiful. She drops her gaze to Oksana's knee. Had she botched the surgery? Had the ligament been too loose? Had Oksana torn it again?

She's desperate to sit her down and examine her properly, to assess the range of movement and swelling and tenderness, to reassure herself if not them both.

"Eve. I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Oksana folds her arms and leans into the cupboards, looking up with a mixture of guilt and resignation. "I have tendonitis," she huffs. 

All of Eve's anxiety drains in one, long breath.

The moment she'd opened the door, she'd flashed with panic - maybe Oksana had grown sated with their little charade, grown bored of her, grown tired of her 'one step forward and two steps back', just when things were looking up. But Oksana hadn't. Oksana was being a stubborn child and Eve recognised the upside to seeing her vulnerable like this.

Still. Tendonitis wasn't the best news.

She steps closer. "Why?"

Oksana's eyes darken with frustration. "I have been doing the leg press - like I was _instructed_ ," she snaps. "The physio said I definitely -"

"Overdid it," Eve says, unsurprised.

There's an indignant grimace. Oksana's masseters flicker as she clenches her jaw. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. My extension has gone to shit. He said to take a break but I think he's -"

"You need to take a break," Eve says, more sternly than she means, and Oksana's eyes flash in defense. Eve eases off. "It's your quads - they're not strong enough yet so there's an imbalance. It's normal," she adds quickly, "you're bound to get it sooner or later. Hurts like hell," she gestures to where her own hamstrings meet her calf, squeezing to prove a point.

"I am very strong."

"No - I know," she smiles gently, reaching to place her hand on Oksana's waist, hoping her touch might bring her round, "sometimes it's just - bad luck."

"It is the worst. I am good at everything."

It's hard, practically impossible to ignore Oksana's exaggerated pout, so Eve doesn't, leaning in to lift her chin. "Look at me."

Oksana does. She's sad, Eve can see the disappointment written all over her and she feels it too, like a mirror.

"I know something that'll help," she soothes, brushing her thumb over Oksana's Cupid's bow. She leans to kiss her there, briefly, lightly, careful not to take things in the wrong direction.

"Sex?"

Eve shakes with laughter. "No."

"A sexy massage?"

"Okay - no."

Oksana's eyes widen with juvenile hope and she hums excitedly. "A movie."

Eve kisses her again, curling her fingers into her sports clothes. There's a lingering smell of gym and perfume and she gathers Oksana in her arms. "Even better."

Oksana looks like Eve's bathtub was made for her and her only.

She tilts her head back against the lip and looks at Eve with a sleepy, upside down grin on her face. "Are you coming in?" She splashes the water with her foot, her painted toes breaking the surface.

Eve nods. She moves to kneel beside the tub.

She steals a moment to herself, enjoying Oksana naked, in her house, relaxed and lazy and open like this. Her hair's piled high, the baby curls at the base of her neck slicked to her skin. The top of her chest glows pink from the steam and Eve spots the faint outline of her breasts just beneath the water. She pushes up on her haunches to kiss a wet shoulder.

"Let me see."

Oksana, irritated, lifts and props her leg on the ledge for her to inspect. 

She keeps her touch light, cupping the knee to judge the heat and swelling inside. She tugs carefully, towards and then away, makes Oksana flex and then straighten through the pain, happy with her findings.

"Like I said - you're tight."

Oksana flashes a smile just on the wrong side of appropriate and Eve flicks water at her.

"Look, see? Your gastrocnemius feels like a knot," she moves on, sliding her fingers to the back of a calf, the skin wet and smooth and pliable as she presses into it, kneading as tenderly as she can, Oksana's face a picture of amused curiosity. "How does that feel?"

"Clinical," Oksana laughs. She sits forward and takes Eve's hands, stroking over them with her thumbs before urging them up an inch. "You can touch me higher."

Eve rolls her eyes but her smile stays nervous. She doesn't have time to think before Oksana's directing her fingers to just behind her thigh.

Everything glides underwater, feels flawless and warm and Eve works the muscles blindly, eyes on Oksana's face to gage her reaction.

She memorises the minutiae of Oksana's expressions, the concentrated quirk of her brow, the flutter of lashes and dart of her tongue, the stretch of her pupils swimming in moss-green.

She takes a fast breath, shallow and empty in her lungs, and then she takes another, steadying herself against the tub with her spare hand.

"Eve."

Her fingers come loose, floating to the surface to rest against Oksana's shin.

"Are you going to get in?"

Her heart pounds.

"Yes. Give me a minute," she says, breathless as she stands, knees creaking from their place on the tiled floor.

She feels Oksana's expectant eyes on her, friendly but imploring, feels them still, when she leaves the bathroom to go downstairs and pick up her laptop and the leftover champagne. She takes big, thirsty gulps but can't calm the burbling inside her.

When she comes back, Oksana's stretched her arms across the frame of the bath and tilted her head to stare at the ceiling. Except her eyes are closed, skin shadowed by the mirror light and the quiet street. Eve stares at her silhouette for long minutes, calming herself with the swirl of the water, the soft drip of the tap. She clears her throat and leans against the door frame as Oksana turns to look at her.

"Are you okay?"

Eve nods. She lifts the two mugs in explanation, her laptop under her arm.

"Take off your clothes and come inside. The water is hot."

She takes her time setting the mugs on the ledge and the laptop on a stool, its pale blue glow coming alive to play whatever Netflix had geared up.

Oksana watches patiently as she strips. With the heady thrill of passion replaced by Oksana's affectionate stare, Eve works fast to rid herself of her shirt, the vest underneath, her jeans, socks, undergarments. Her movements are quick, practical and she scoops her hair in a bun before Oksana catches her wrist and pulls her close.

"You are _so_ sexy."

Eve glares.

Oksana licks her mouth hungrily. She touches Eve with her eyes, on her breasts and her belly, hand smoothing over the curve of Eve's hip and then thigh. "You are so beautiful. I love to see you naked. Come here." She scoots forward to make space behind her.

The water's scalding hot, Oksana's body more so when Eve slides in and brackets it with her thighs. She hums. "It's nice."

"I feel much better already," Oksana jokes but her voice sounds low and thick with longing. Eve can feel the comforting rumble of it against her chest. She smoothes her hands over slick shoulders, the muscles taut and skin prickly beneath her touch.

Oksana coils into her like a cat.

Eve makes a trail down her arms, beneath the water to find her hands.

"You can touch me."

"I know," she sighs.

"You don't have to," Oksana whispers, wrapping herself in Eve's arms. The hum of the laptop drowns Eve's breathing, hot and erratic against the back of Oksana's neck.

"I know," she mumbles, tracing her fingers past familiar hips, up the faint ridges of Oksana's ribs, the curves of her breasts supple and inviting in her hands. She could touch her there.

She could drop her hand and touch lower, close her eyes and pretend she's touching herself, slow and deep and firm between the folds. Except Oksana would be more responsive, more impatient than her, wetter and hotter and not from the bath.

The tight space between her thighs throbs hard and she lets the lip of the tub dig painfully between her shoulder blades to cut the aching feeling short.

_She wants, she wants, she wants. What if she did it wrong?_

Oksana passes back a mug - a reprieve - and nestles her head into Eve's shoulder.

The feel of her like this is bliss. Eve submerges herself in the warmth, the scent of iris and sandalwood and soap all-too-intimate, the champagne cool and fizzing within her. She leans to kiss Oksana's ear, the soft part where her earring lies.

Her heart continues to hammer. She's sure Oksana can feel it. She swallows.

"I used to hate this tub. I can't remember the last time I used it."

The water sloshes as Oksana half-turns to look at her. "I like this tub very much."

Eve laughs. She lowers her mouth to Oksana's shoulder, the pink lines of her bra fading under each kiss. "Okay, fine. It's growing on me."

"It is a very nice tub. But we will have a serious talk about your sofas. They are hideous."

And her nerves ease away just like that, into the water, Oksana's hands firm and comforting on the caps of her bent knees.

She tickles between Oksana's ribs but lets the comment fly, her words swallowed by Oksana's lips on her knuckles and the inside of her wrist and then, after mumbled words in Russian-French, her wanting, waiting mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1 for chapter snippets/polls etc.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To powgo for all her lovely Russian-related advice!
> 
> 2 parter.

//

_a)_

"I am going back to Paris," Oksana announces and the world turns mute, painfully so, as Eve looks up from her tray.

The inevitable was finally here and Oksana offers it so casually, so apathetically, Eve can't help but plummet.

"Oh."

"I have to."

 _Are you kidding? Why?!_ Eve wants to shout but finds herself nodding, her fork trembling in her fist.

Oksana's looking at her, speechless, and it hurts, it aches so acutely all over, in her chest and her belly and the backs of her eyes. It makes her want to throw up. She swallows back the onslaught of emotion and stares into her plate.

"Right. Okay."

She feels Oksana's foot under the table, tapping against her own. She wants to tap back, to reach across the table and grab on.

Her body quiets her mind and she finds herself recoiling.

"Why are you sad?"

Eve scoffs. She gives up on her meal and folds her arms across her chest. "I'm not."

"Eve," Oksana laughs. The nerve. What was happening?

"Don't."

"Hey," Oksana says, louder this time, loud enough to be demanding, and Eve lifts her eyes reluctantly, frustrated. "It is only for a weekend."

Eve's heart jumps. "What?"

"I have to get some things from the university. Paperwork. For my exam application."

The words make sense, they do, but they're jumbled by the time they get to her.

Oksana smiles at her. "Do you want to come?"

"What?"

Oksana sits forward to take her wrist, to catch her fingers in the bright light of day, in the middle of the hospital cafeteria, brief but sweet under her cautious eyes, and gone just as fast.

"Come to Paris. You have been before?"

Eve nods.

She had been, but only with Niko and once with work. The first time, she'd been a tourist, and the second, a professional. She'd never experienced the city as a native and she wanted nothing more.

There was work to think about though: clinic and elective lists and oncalls and things that usually needed eight weeks notice, cancellations and paperwork, lots of paperwork. "When?"

"Next week. It's my birthday but - there is a deadline," she shrugs.

Eve was on nights. Naturally. It would be next to impossible to make it work.

She'd miss Oksana turning twenty-nine and she'd thought of the perfect gift and the perfect way to celebrate. In London. She fumes at her rota. "I'm working."

Oksana makes a face. Brushes her off. "If you want to come, I will ask Konstantin to sort things out."

"I want to, I do but - I'm covering trauma."

"He will talk to Carolyn. They will hire a locum. Easy. Come with me."

It felt like a pipe dream. Eve had responsibilities, people relying on her. She couldn't just drop everything and travel on a whim with hardly any notice. 

"When was the last time you took a holiday?" Oksana says playfully, "Hmm? It will be good for you."

"We went skiing," Eve points out but that didn't count, they both knew it.

"Eve, come on. I will make it worth your time, okay? I promise. I will show you Paris the way I know Paris and we will find the best coffee for you, and pastries. A lot of pastries."

Eve buries her face in her hands. She wonders how the hell Konstantin would bring Carolyn round in only a week's time. Then again, Konstantin worked miracles. And he loved her, as hard as she made it sometimes.

"Pastries do sound good."

Oksana laughs, loud and open-mouthed.

Eve pictures her on the banks of the Seine, hand in her own, happy. She pictures winding through the narrow streets of Oksana's childhood, lifting her eyes to the walls of Oksana's school, her home, her favourite place to eat.

"Leave it with me. This will be the best birthday," Oksana says and Eve can hear and see the excitement glowing in her cheeks. She lets herself swell with happiness, knowing she'd put it there. 

London-Oksana can't hold a candle to Paris-Oksana.

Paris-Oksana is still loud, playful, rude, but more so. Less contained. Confident and alive with something Eve hadn't yet seen back home.

The rain falls around them in sheets, drumming on the umbrella as they stay linked, dodging cobbled puddles in tandem.

Eve can't see much of the city beyond the edge of her hood pressing curls into her eyes, but Oksana's describing it in technicolour detail, pointing past old apartment buildings and gardens, walking her by polished fashion houses and scrawled graffiti.

"I want to show you something."

"I think you already have," Eve says into the zipped collar of her jacket just as Oksana tugs her into a courtyard, the buildings tall and crumbling around them.

It's beautiful - in the way old things are, vine-covered and cracked and lived-in. This place is quieter than the rest. It sits in shadow, nestled from the busy Parisian streets to draw them in.

Oksana points up to a large window. "You see there?"

Eve nods.

"My apartment," she explains, pulling her towards the brass-rimmed doors. "I wonder if - " and then the doors give and they're inside and Eve feels the thrill of stepping into somewhere secret, stepping right into Oksana's past. "I had a very shitty neighbour."

"Oh yeah?"

"Madame Tattevin," Oksana says in her lovely French accent. Part of Eve wants to head right back into the heart of the city, just to hear Oksana flag down a waiter or ask for directions. "She was very sassy, very _old._ Very - nosy," she points to the door where Eve presumes the woman lives - lived? "She would take the trash in the middle of the day and the smell, it was very bad, especially in the summer. Very disgusting."

Eve catches the revolted scrunch of Oksana's nose and lifts her head to follow the intricate bannisters of the winding staircase. It didn't smell like that any more. It smelt like concrete and cigarettes and perfume. "She still around?"

Oksana shrugs. "Who cares? She asked too many questions."

"You're interesting. People want to know you."

"Not when I am in my underwear, half-way up the stairs."

That felt like a story for another time. What kind of trouble did Oksana get herself in?

Eve looks up longingly to the top floor of Oksana's home. She wonders what her flat would be like - chique as shit, no doubt. Distressed, probably, in a way that added charm. Or maybe no longer so - after all, years had passed since her departure.

When she turns, Oksana's leaning against the wall with a similar sort of longing. The corners of her mouth down-turn, hands in the pockets of her Mac. No doubt she felt a sense of melancholy coming here, retracing a life left behind. 

Eve wonders what St Petersburg would evoke.

She takes Oksana's hand. "I think it's time for alcohol."

The mood lifts.

"You know a good bar?"

"We are in Paris, Eve. Is that a serious question?"

"Come on, then. I could murder some wine. And cheese. And a baguette. Obviously."

Oksana laughs then, genuinely, and Eve leads her out into the day, relieved and eager to fill the hours with happiness only, with new memories to pave over the old.

"What made you become a doctor?"

It's a fair question. Eve feels relaxed enough to pry, wine-drunk and amused as Oksana pops an olive into her mouth. She reaches for a sheet of prosciutto.

"Eve - " Oksana swallows. She takes a drink. Leans back in her chair and drums her fingers against the table. "It is a very long story."

Eve props her chin in her hand. "We have time?" she says as gently as she can.

"I don't want to ruin the moment."

The moment was perfect: quiet wine-bar dinner a stone's throw from their Airbnb; agreeing to wear a dress because Oksana had bribed her, with kisses in the shower and then again in the foyer; watching Oksana eat and talk and flirt, with her crisp white button-down and her black leather jacket and her big, interested eyes never straying from her own.

Having Oksana recount her entire personal history wouldn't ruin anything. Eve could listen to her talk for hours.

"You couldn't if you tried."

"It is not exactly a happy one."

Eve stretches to tangle their feet beneath the table. "Okay. I can go first? If you want."

"Yes," Oksana smiles.

"I'm Asian."

"Yes," Oksana says again, smirking. "Asian woman with amazing hair."

"Is that how you describe me?"

"Mostly," Oksana teases.

"I'll take it," she laughs. "So, Asian family. Options are: doctor or lawyer."

It's a joke but Oksana blinks, unamused.

" _Oh_! _No_ \- not like that, I mean - my parents were pushy but they'd never force me into something I didn't like. Except musical instruments - _soul_ destroying. I guess - uh - I was always really good at school? I studied hard, had dorky friends, did _all_ the extracurriculars. I wanted to do something meaningful, something fun and crazy and intense - I actually - you won't believe this, but - I got big into forensics," she cringes, but Oksana leans in with interest so she opens up, "forensic psychiatry - serial killers, psychopaths, the whole thing."

"What happened?"

"Ugh - _life_." And Niko. And moving house. And the colorectal cancer that killed her dad. She glosses over this, quickly and casually, then looks to flag the waiter for more wine.

Oksana catches her. "Eve."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm fine. It happened a long time ago."

The waiter approaches and then leaves and Eve's left with this heavy, aching feeling in her chest. It still lingered, sometimes, more so for the loneliness her mother had been dealt - and she'd played a part too, leaving Conneticut the first chance she got - than the actual loss of him.

She really needed to phone home.

"I know how that feels," Oksana says softly.

Eve cocks her head in an attempt to read between the lines. She buzzes with questions like, _which part?_ and _what do you mean?_ and _are you okay?_ because Oksana's eyes turn glossy, wavering between Eve and her wine glass.

The silence stretches. Oksana clears her throat. "Do you know Chernobyl?"

Eve takes a shaky breath. Of course she did - knew well enough to predict how this story might go.

"Of course."

"That was a really bad time. For Ukraine and for Russia. The radiation spread very far."

"Absolutely. I can't imagine."

"When I was very little, we lived in the country, in the South - very ugly, when we have beautiful St Petersburg - and Moscow, which is still ugly but better. My mother was a kindergarden teacher and my father - " she mulls it over - Eve can see her tongue run over the insides of her teeth, "he was a bastard. I am sure you know the big explosion. After that, there was a lot of thyroid cancer. Still. Not a very big problem."

Eve hums.

"But there was other cancer, too - lymphoma, leukaemia. A lot of poverty and disillusion with the bullshit government, you know? It was the worst, after that. Later, when I was seven, my mother was taken to the hospital. Ovarian. It was hard, sure. She was strong, she would tell me 'You and me, we are real Russian girls'," Oksana laughs, empty and hollow and Eve wants nothing more than to gather up her sadness and stuff it away.

"My father was a big pig. Drinking and drinking and swearing and drinking more, all of the time, always so angry. And the hospital - fuck, Eve, I cannot describe it. Nothing like we have in London. It was _big_ _shit_. Sometimes, no hot water. No electricity for many hours. No doctors, no good ones. The good ones go."

"Fucking hell," Eve whispers. She tries not to think about it - Oksana and her mother, plunged into dark chaos on a dilapidated ward - but the images flood and her throat swells, hot and painful under Oksana's sombre gaze.

"My mother died in a lot of pain. Alone. She waited for her operation but it never happened. She suffered and she didn't deserve it."

"Of course not - Christ, nobody deserves that, Oksana, I - I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I...I'm so sorry that happened to you. And to her, of course, to her."

"It is not going to happen to my patients."

"No. I know, definitely. Never."

"So - there is your answer."

Eve slumps in her chair. She's an idiot. She stares at the left-over spread and her stomach lurches.

She can't quite bring herself to look at Oksana, to face the hurt she must have instilled. She thinks of all the times she'd called Oksana out on her crap, her apathy, her calousness towards her patients when in hindsight, all it'd been was a great, big wall of self-preservation, and rightly so.

Oksana squeezes her hand.

"This is a terrible conversation."

Eve shakes her head. "I'm so sorry."

"If I smoked, now would be a good time," Oksana jokes.

"No shit," her eyes flash, "Thank you - for telling me. It means a lot to me. I'm sorry you hurt and I know nothing I say will ever make it better or be enough, but - I'm happy to know you, inside and out. It's so good to know you."

Oksana shrugs. "I am special."

Eve chuckles. "More than you know."

"A joke, Eve. _You_ are special. You don't always have to say the right thing, but, you do - and you are here, with me - in Paris - and that makes it so much better and it is more than enough."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW.

_b)_

She takes her time getting out of bed.

The night had been long - three a.m. walks back to the flat and then talking and sharing until the sun came up.

The space beside her lies empty now. She stretches across it, listening as Oksana potters around the kitchen noisily: the clang of pans, water running, the smell of sugar and coffee.

She reaches into her suitcase for Oksana's present. She hadn't gotten a card - the inscription would do. She scoops her hair up, opens the curtains and pads bare-foot across the sun-lit floor, through to the main living space where Oksana stands, reading _Le Monde_ by the bar.

"You are alive!" Oksana says dramatically, smiling over her glass of orange juice.

Eve laughs. She keeps the gift hidden. "Good morning to you too," she says as she peers over Oksana's paper to spy eggs cooling in the pan and fresh pastries on the side. "Hang on - how is it _your_ birthday and I'm the one getting pampered?"

Oksana gives her an exasperated look. "It is ten."

"Hardly," Eve tries, glancing to the time on the microwave, "quarter-to," she reaches for a croissant but Oksana slaps her hand gently. "When did you get these?"

"This morning," Oksana gloats, "actually, I have been very productive, Eve. While you sleep and sleep."

"Um - you made me traipse around the entire city in one day?"

"Yes. You would think you are the one with the bad knee, drama queen."

Eve grunts, giving up on the pastries. She holds the gift behind her back. Oksana's looking at her curiously, sleepy and soft - Eve's favourite version of her. She tugs the newspaper away and moves closer.

"So. Trouble. Happy birthday."

"Thank you. Are you going to spoil me?"

"Of course," Eve laughs.

"How much?" Oksana says with a big smile and excited eyes that widen when Eve hands over her present.

"A sensible amount."

"Eve," she frowns. She stares at the neat, little package, too surprised to open it. Eve has to nudge her, has to tell her, _nothing fancy, honest_ even though she'd had to beg, borrow and steal to get it. "I was just joking - you didn't have to - "

"Open the damn thing."

Oksana scoots up onto the kitchen counter. She's so careful, peeling back the cellotape where Eve imagined she'd rip, unfolding the paper where Eve imagined she'd tear down the middle. She swings her feet against the cupboard doors in anticipation.

" _Bozhe ty moy_." Her eyes dance over the first edition bindings of the book, fingers tracing its hard edges reverently. "Eve. What did you do?"

She'd spent weeks researching, Google-mapping, calling up, scowering the streets of London until the bookshop in Shoreditch, of all places, had managed to source it, and just for her.

"Do you like it?"

Oksana blinks at her, then at the book, and back up again, her mouth parted in a half-formed _yes_.

Eve cups her face. "Guess you'll have to teach me French."

"Yes. If you want, I can. I used to read Prévert in school, all of the time. I think maybe he is my favourite."

"Good. Maybe while you're at it you can have a crack at teaching me Italian and Russian," she jokes.

"Sure," Oksana says. She sits forward to lean into Eve's open palm, but can't help flicking through the book, her fingers sifting through the pages and poems and finally to Eve's dedication, written on the title page.

_Oksana,_

_Happy birthday! I know we've not always seen eye to eye and I'm still learning to speak your language, but it's worth it every day. I hope this serves as a little piece of home, to keep here with you in London._

_With love,_

_Eve_

"This is - Eve - "

Eve takes the book gently, setting it beside the stove. When she looks up, Oksana's staring at her in a way that makes her chest ache, her skin fresh in the morning light, the bridge of her nose wind-swept pink, her lips soft. She feels Oksana use her legs to tug her close, and then her arms to wrap her up.

She gets her _thank-you_ , in words, and then physically, Oksana's mouth grateful and open to kiss her.

Eve likes the noises she makes. Not so much sounds as half-breaths every time they're like this, every time they touch a little too long. 

With Oksana on the counter, she can stand tall and look all she wants without cricking her neck.

She can stare at Oksana's pretty pupils, her rising flush. She can kiss her hairline and her forehead without feeling awkward. She can rest hands, palms flat, on either side of Oksana's knees, lean forward and lose herself in the warmth of Oksana's skin, her thighs strong and welcoming around her.

Oksana usually kisses like she eats - determined and hungry, like she can't quite get enough, like she'll make the most of it before it's taken from her. Eve likes the immediacy of it, all tongue and breath and hands all over.

Not now, though.

There's no urgency now, just a quiet, simmering want as Oksana curls fingers into her sleep shirt.

She wants it off. Wonders, briefly, if all of Paris might see, past the balcony shutters and into the kitchen. Feels alive at the prospect, and then protective - she doesn't want to share.

She lifts her fingers to Oksana's pyjama top.

Oksana smiles. "Do it."

She works the buttons smoothly, though her hands shake. The material parts to reveal lovely, pale skin. She bends to kiss there - right over Oksana's breast bone and up to a clavicle where they meet.

Oksana tilts her hips into her.

When she breaks away, the top is gone and Oksana's bare from the waist up. Eve might as well be seeing her for the first time because her pulse starts to speed and her throat turns dry and Oksana's panting, short and unsteady, her ribs contracting and expanding under her infatuated gaze.

"Don't think so much, Eve. Just kiss me, keep kissing me, okay?"

Eve nods. She does, over and over, welcomes Oksana's gentle tongue and greets it with her own, drops her mouth to Oksana's neck to suck over the pulse nestled there, drops lower still to kiss the side of her breast and then inward, Oksana's fingers fisted lightly in her hair.

"Take it down."

The words register but they're distant over the sound of her own breathing, the sound of the morning wind, the sound of Oksana's heels as they hit the cupboards beneath her.

"Take it down."

She scrambles to straighten, searching Oksana's face for meaning. It only comes when Oksana reaches down for her, brings her up to her mouth and takes the clip from her hair, shaking out the curls over and over playfully, greedily, and then pulling back to admire them.

" _Krasivaya_."

Eve grasps her wrists. Anchors them against the counter. "I want to make you feel good."

"You do," Oksana nods with enthusiasm.

Eve swallows. She puts her hands on Oksana's hips, squeezes her there and then palms her breasts just to watch her face change. "Not like you do, me."

" _Yes_ ," Oksana hisses.

Why hadn't she done this sooner? Oksana's responses eclipse any prospect of self-doubt. It's beyond easy with her. No guess work, just second nature. Eve could watch her like this and never want for anything more.

She runs her thumbs over Oksana's nipples experimentally, small and already pebbled from her kisses.

Oksana's head drops back. It thuds against the unit.

She mouths the underside of her chin, her jaw. "I want you to show me."

Oksana's eyes snap open.

"Show me. Show me what you like. I want to touch you." The words barely come out, clogged and sticky. Her knees feel like they'd give way if it weren't for Oksana's legs around her and her cautious, turned-on smile rooting her in place.

Oksana kisses her, pulls back, kisses her again, pulls back to check.

Eve doesn't waver, not this time, why would she? She lets Oksana remove her t-shirt to even the score, drops her hands to the strings of Oksana's silk pyjamas, brushes the backs of her knuckles over the unblemished skin just beneath her navel.

Oksana laugh-sighs happily. "Take them off."

_The eggs will go cold._

The thought makes her snort and she shakes her head as she rolls the bottoms down just as Oksana calles her _schoolgirl_. And then she sobers, entirely, because Oksana's naked from head to toe, on a stranger's marble counter, waiting just for her, and Eve wonders if she'd have time to take a quick photo or muddle through a sketch, just to bask in it for a few long, indulgent minutes.

"Come here."

The moment's snatched away but she doesn't care, not when Oksana lifts a foot up onto the surface, spreading open in a crude and breath-taking gesture.

" _Oh_."

She's wet. The apices of her thighs burn hot when Eve touches them, twitching as Oksana takes her hand.

"I like it in circles -"

 _Oh God._ Eve trembles.

"- firm but not rough. Slow is nice, to start -"

She nods mutely.

"- and up and down, but circles are better."

 _Fuck_.

"You can go inside of me. I like that. Two. Three - sometimes. You can be rougher, I like to feel it."

_She's going to die._

"But whatever you do will feel good, Eve, I promise," she whispers and her eyes are nearly black, feral, Eve almost forgets her own name. "Here," she puts Eve's fingers on herself and she's wet, she's so wet, Eve's barely touched her and she slides right through. Her confidence soars.

Oksana starts to make circles, using the pads of Eve's fingers to demonstrate the slow and steady of it.

Eve stares, transfixed - she doesn't know what's more beautiful - Oksana's gaze, hooded with lust, or the flower-petal place between her legs, so similar and so different from her own. She wants to drop to her knees and memorise every detail. She feels her whole body pulse at the thought. She slides her fingers lower, breath catching at the softness there, the slickness Oksana lets her explore of her own volition.

She presses in. Oksana hiccups. She pushes further, feels Oksana tighten around her. The bottom of her stomach drops off.

"Oh my God."

"Eve," Oksana whines.

"Okay - okay," Eve gulps, curling her fingers in the way she's used to, and it seems to work because Oksana coils into her, bucks into her to gain more friction against the ball of her hand, her hips snapping up again and again. Eve wraps an arm around her waist to steady her. She nuzzles into Oksana's shoulder, nips her there, sucks until the skin blossoms and she's moaning beautifully, hot and wordless into her ear.

She goes faster. She imagines the phantom touch on herself, knows exactly how this feels, remembers all the times Oksana had fucked her, sprawled in bed or nestled against her on the sofa.

The cupboards thud with each thrust. It turns her on, sounds loud, makes her feel powerful and strong, the idea that she could give Oksana so much pleasure, break her off and put her back together again.

"Put your hand on me," Oksana gasps, "just - just a little bit," and directs Eve to her throat, holding her there lightly just so Eve can feel the muscles tense, the blood rush through. It's the most erotic thing she's ever seen and it fills her with thrill-fear that's entirely new.

She caresses Oksana's neck with her thumb. Not now. Not like that.

She tilts her jaw to kiss her tenderly.

" _Eve_."

_Oh God, say it again, say it again._

_"Eve. Eve - mmh - "_

She feels the orgasm bloom and burst, in the way Oksana grows wetter, digs her heels into her lower back, clenches her fingers around her shoulders, squeezes her eyes shut and shakes and shakes in her hands.

She hugs her close, waiting for her breathing to slow, for her thighs to stop seizing.

Oksana falls into her. She sighs against slow fingertips, scraping across her scalp.

"Wow."

Eve revels in it. It's bliss. She likes the haze, the sweatiness, the warmth.

When she brings herself to pull slightly away, Oksana's spent and gloriously flushed. The sight of her makes her feel like a livewire, buzzing and beside herself, dizzy with satisfaction and want.

"Are you sure you have never fucked a woman?"

"How'd I _know_ you were going to go there?"

"Because I am very funny."

Eve kisses her. "I think I could do that ten thousand times."

"Really."

She licks her lips. Cups Oksana's face, giddy when she turns into her palm.

Her stomach lets out a loud, angry growl. They both laugh.

"I need the practice. Right after breakfast."

"If you're going to keep making me come like that, Eve, I am _definitely_ not going to stop you. Ever. I'm not stupid."

"No," Eve chuckles, helping her scoot off the counter. Oksana sneaks a kiss, shivering as she lets Eve caress her damp back. "But you _are_ completely stark naked. Go and get dressed. I should wash my hands."

As she rises from the floor with her clothes in her arms, Oksana flashes her a hungry look that almost sets her off again.

It'll have to wait, but not for long.

She doesn't know how she'll ever find time for anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1


	35. Chapter 35

//

"How was Paris?" Konstantin finally asks her, when it's just the two of them in the staff room, hanging around between surgeries. 

She hands him a filter coffee and proceeds to stir two sugar packets into her own, just to give herself something to do. 

"Cold." She doesn't look at him.

Konstantin clicks his tongue. He takes up the tattered sofa, cracking his back in a big stretch before propping his clogs on the coffee table. She envies how relaxed he is, how expectant and coy, when she stands there by the hot water dispenser, feeling like she might burst out of her own skin under all the attention.

"And you had a good time, with Oksana?"

"Uh - Yeah. It was mostly just - work stuff."

Eve distinctly remembers fucking Oksana again after breakfast, distinctly recalls putting off visiting the Louvre and putting her mouth between Oksana's legs instead, won't ever forget how terrifying and wonderful and narcotic it felt. 

She gulps her coffee and lets it singe her entire oesophagus.

Konstantin pats the space beside him. He's not smiling, though Eve wishes he would. There's something fatherly in his eyes, a mixture of worry and affection and it beckons her to him, weary as she is.

"Listen - thank you," she starts, desperate to fill the silence, "for arranging cover. I know it must've been a ball-ache to organise last minute and, well - Carolyn's," she winces, "prickly at the best of times," - _though probably not with him_ , she thinks, fidgeting with her scrub hat, "so I don't want you to think -" she turns to him and there it is at last, that Cheshire-cat grin that stops her in her tracks, "I'm not grateful. I am," she deadpans.

He hums. "What was this work thing?" 

She squeezes her hat between two fists.

"Paperwork. For Oksana's exam."

" _Ah_. Okay. Paperwork," his eyes sparkle, "that she needed your help with, specifically," he prods gently.

She nods.

"Yes, it makes sense."

It doesn't, not at all. He knows that. She knows that.

She downs the rest of her coffee, staring at the machine to decide whether to make another. Konstantin puts a hand on her knee to keep her seated.

"Eve."

"Mhmm."

"I know you better than most. Don't forget it. We look out for each other - right? We have always done it like that."

She stares at his hands, his broad, familiar knuckles, fingers splayed across her knee in a calming gesture of good-will. He turns to hook an elbow against the back rest.

"You have to be careful."

She wonders how far she could go with her lie - an omission, really - before he has enough and finally calls whatever she had with Oksana for what it is. She puts her hand on top of his forearm. Squeezes innocently.

"Romance at work is - not for a weak stomach."

"What are you -"

"Trust me, I would know. I have done many things I regret. It becomes complicated, Eve, when there are vested interests, when there is stress and different teams and different schedules - there is a lot of pressure to make things work."

"Konstantin - " her heart rumbles in her stomach. She presses her hands between her thighs to keep them still. She's turning hot.

"People like to talk. You are senior, there will be more talk."

She sighs. She digs her fingers into the bridge of her nose, rubbing there until Konstantin pulls her away. 

"Look at me. I am serious. It is something you have to be very careful with. And Oksana," he says and his voice turns gentle, softer - Eve had only heard it a handful of times, and mostly when he talked about them both. "She is - like my blood," he chuckles, "and you are like my family, Eve so it's - not going to be easy. Do you understand?"

She pinches her mouth, nodding a little as she runs her nail across her teeth. "Yeah. I think so."

"I don't want it to end in tears. For you. For her."

"It won't," she's quick to add, "it won't," she says more quietly, mulling over her promise. It wouldn't. It could have ended months ago, could have ended before it had even begun. She thinks, perhaps the pair of them were too stubborn to ever let it fail. And she cared about this, more than anything, wanted to nurture it with everything she had.

"She is happy. It's a nice change."

Eve folds her arms across her chest shyly. She wonders just how much Oksana had told him. She aches to know what they're like behind closed doors - a father-daughter duo, or trio, with Irina - and just how much warmth, and a sense of belonging, Konstantin had provided the moment Oksana set foot in his department. 

She fights not to grin. "I know."

Konstantin pats her cheek, rising to bin his half-drunk coffee.

"Don't shit where you eat, _kroshka_ ," he announces, motioning for her to join him. "But if you are going to shit - do it like you mean it. Okay?"

Eve stares at him. He pulls her to him, arm around both of her shoulders and a kiss to the top of her head as he swipes them through the staff-room door and leads them back to theatre.

She throws Bill daggers over her slice of pizza.

"What?"

A beat.

"Oh come _on_! Did you honestly expect Elena to keep her mouth shut?"

Eve drops her food and cleans her greasy hands on her scrub pants. "For fuck's sake."

"I hate to say it but she didn't even try. Not even a little bit. Verbal diarrhoea," he shrugs and he's sipping his water with so much self-satisfaction, Eve wants to tip it all over him just to shut him up. 

"Okay, cool. So you don't need to hear it from me then."

His face falls. "Now hang on - that's exactly the opposite of what I meant. I want to know everything. Spit it out. It's who I think it is, isn't it?"

Eve takes a huge bite, shoving almost the entire slice into her mouth as Bill cackles.

"Oh, you dirty bitch."

"Fuck off," she mumbles as she wipes her mouth.

"Remind me again - what did I say about that fine line?"

"Fuck you."

Bill nods, tapping his fingers against the table. When Eve's finished with her current bite, he slides the tray away from her and guards the rest of her pizza crust from her pissed off hands. 

"You're not getting it until you tell me about _Oksana_."

With wide eyes, she glances quickly around them, mindful of what Konstantin had told her, of the bustling cafeteria at peak food rush. 

Bill pulls a face. "Sorry - about Oksana," he stage-whispers and she gives him the middle finger. "So?"

Eve sits. She doesn't talk, doesn't react, just sits and waits for him to get bored of this conversation. He doesn't. 

"I bloody well knew it! The _moment_ you spoke about her. You're not exactly discrete."

"Right."

"You just - lit up. You had this look in your eye I'll never forget. Christ, I knew before _you_ knew."

Eve refuses to engage. She won't. She'd had enough - from Konstantin, from Elena. The last thing she needed was her best friend, ganging up on her when all she wanted was a nice, quiet lunch and to get to clinic on time. 

"What is it about her?"

"I'm not doing this."

Bill leans in conspiratorially, smoothing his tie down so it doesn't touch Eve's half-finished plate. "I'm a homosexual, Eve. The least I can do is offer my services."

She looks up at him. Something inside her twinges.

She remembers college together. The first time he'd told her about his then-boyfriend, secret until it wasn't, and how she'd been there, always, for his first love and his first heart-break and his coming out and the tumultuous bar scene and countless late nights spent ogling boys in tight trousers whilst Niko sorted lesson plans.

"You owe me," he says and it shouldn't make her feel guilty but it does, because they knew each other inside out, so why was this different?

"You don't have to play the gay card. I'm telling you because - _ugh_ , you're basically my soulmate - shut _up_. Not because - of the other thing."

Bill smiles. "Go on, then. Tell your soulmate."

She rolls her eyes at him. "How much did Elena spew?"

"Everything up until Paris -" and he gets excited, almost as if he'd reminded himself, " _oh_ , Paris! Jesus, Eve. Look at you - loosing your street cred."

"I don't have any street cred."

"Big, bad Eve Polastri turning sappy for Dr Astankova."

"Not big. Nor bad."

"Please. You should see the way some of your juniors look at you - like you'll gobble them up."

"I'm nice," she tries. She was, truly. Nice and fair and respected and a little ruthless, but only when needed. 

Bill puts his arms up in a gesture of surrender. "No - agreed. You're also soft around the edges. Pastries on the ward?"

Eve groans. She wonders whether there was anyone left in the hospital who knew how to keep their mouth shut. "People need feeding."

"It's wonderful! I think it's wonderful. Happiness looks good on you, my darling. Is she everything you ever wanted?"

It should come off sarcastic but it doesn't. Bill's looking at her with genuine fondness, the way Konstantin had, and Elena before him, and it's hard to stay annoyed when she's surrounded by people like this.

She nods.

"I think the last year - last _several_ \- have been a bit of a disaster. You've not been in a good place. We could tell. And - understandably, so. This woman's come into your life and just - swept you off your feet. I'm not kidding, you're radiant," he laughs, handing Eve back her unfinished slice and thus, letting her off the hook. "And I think you've handled it the best way a person can. I'm so proud of you."

"Bill - don't."

"You have so much love for others, it's about time you got some in return."

"You disgust me."

"Now, now. Before I ask about the sex - which, to be perfectly honest, is a conversation we need to have," he says casually and Eve scoffs as she glances to her watch and realises they still had way too long of lunch left, "when do we get to meet her?"

Integrating Oksana into her friendships was always going to be a bit of a task. She'd wanted it to happen naturally - somewhere between navigating a same-sex- relationship- slash-divorce, and juggling Oksana's injury, exam prep and her own shift pattern. She'd need to plan. A dinner, preferrably, in a familiar environment where Oksana felt relaxed and welcome - not that she couldn't handle herself.

"At some point. Soon. _Maybe_. I'll organise something at mine."

It seems to be good enough of an answer because Bill sets his cutlery down and wipes his mouth with a paper tissue, deathly serious when he finally asks, "So. Scissoring. The brain-child of a multi-billion-pound porn industry, or something people actually do?"

Eve lets her face drop into her hands with a defeated whine. Maybe she did need new friends after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1!


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second update this week - thanks for reading!

//

The casualties roll in like an avalanche at seven minutes to nine, in double-digit numbers through the A&E doors.

Eve stares at her phone, her news app flashing continuously as someone turns up the radio.

_...suspected act of terrorism....Westminster bridge...multiple casualties, three presumed dead..._

She doesn't get time to hang around or scroll through her Twitter feed before Carolyn's on her, summoning her trauma team to figure out the best plan of action.

_What was the protocol for this?_

_Did they even have one?_

"God-awful news this morning. Nevertheless, we keep calm and carry on. I do regret to say we _are_ at full capacity - once _again_ \- and may need to begin diverting casualties to neighbouring hospitals. Certainly not quite the scenario one would hope for."

Every nerve in Eve's body comes alive.

She hardly hears Carolyn's reprimanding words about understaffing and poor team leadership, barely registers instructions barked condescendingly at her to split up, to choose A&E versus theatres, to co-ordinate, to ensure meticulous triage.

Her eyes fall on Konstantin instead, fix him with her grateful, anxious stare as he flits in and out of resus bays. He's stretched thin between them, lost in a department taking more and more bodies - staff summoned from other wards, health cares and nurses and security and strength in numbers.

It seems everybody's there.

Oksana isn't.

Eve backs away from the huddle. Images of Oksana flash at her: on the Tube, the bridge, walking, caught mid-commute, hurt or unconscious or -

She speed-dials. The adrenaline tastes sour in her mouth.

Oksana answers on the second ring and leaves her slumped against the obs machine, phone trembling in her closed fist.

"Are you safe? Where are you? Have you heard -"

"I'm okay, Eve. I'm fine. I know. Where - "

"A&E. Where are you?" she says again. She hears the horror, thin and reedy in her own voice.

"Changing my clothes. I'm coming to help. Eve - "

Eve swallows.

"Don't be brave. Just - be careful."

And the line cuts and Eve's left standing, shell-shocked and speechless until her body's mechanically directed towards a haemorrhaging victim two trolleys down.

"IO line," Konstantin shouts over the hysteria, working to intubate the thirteen year-old Eve had been handed only minutes ago.

Eve quickly unpacks the intraosseous kit, throwing sterile gloves on while the paramedic cuts through the victim's clothes.

Oksana works next to her, but on a different case. 

Eve instantly feels calmer, safer, knowing she's there, alive, just as overwrought and morbidly thrilled to be part of the clean-up team.

"Drill."

It's passed to her.

"Line."

Again.

Distantly, she registers the beep of the patient's pulse, loud, regular. She counts on Konstantin to keep an eye out, rooted at the head of the bed to sort the endotracheal tube, the bag and mask.

Her focus stays sharp on her casualty's shin as she starts to drill the hole. She feels the bone give, makes quick work of securing the line, setting up fluids, pulling from the calm depths of herself the next step in the process.

The pulse flatlines.

" _Ty che, blyad!?_ " Konstantin bellows and then to Oksana, _"Idi syuda!_ " and Eve has no idea what any of it means but Oksana's at his side in seconds, taking over as he throws himself onto the teenager's chest, his broad shoulders hunched, arms straight to administer CPR.

Eve drops what she's doing. Stares across the body at Oksana.

Her excitement turns to fear, cold as a fever as it washes over her.

_This isn't happening. It couldn't. An hour into the morning and it couldn't._

She grabs the defib, working around Konstantin's large hands to get the pads on.

She hears Oksana's voice count the time since arrest.

"Analysing. Continue chest compressions," the automated voice says.

Konstantin steps away and she steps up, not a moment lost as she starts to compress, thirty to two, co-ordinating with Oksana to get the compression-to-breath transition just right.

She's on her third cycle when Konstantin nudges her to swap.

"I got it."

"Eve -"

"I said I fucking _got_ it," she bites as she powers through. 

She would do it herself, no point losing time. It was her responsibiliy now.

She feels the ribs crack from sheer force.

Her forearms grow heavy, wrists aching with the recoiling pressure. Her vision blurs, with sweat and anger, and her compressions turn shallow, just as arms come around her to drag her away and allow Konstantin to take over. "Get off. Get off me! Get the fuck off -"

"Eve - stop. Eve, calm down," Oksana's mumbling to her, whispering as she cradles her, trying to hold in her fury at Konstantin's stronger, heavier form bent over the lifeless body, his colleague stood anxiously at the patient's head to take Oksana's place. "You're tired. Come here."

"I'm - _fuck._ Don't - _don't_ ," Eve growls and breaks out of Oksana's arms, desperate to find another use for herself, the ricocheting sound of the child's body being pummeled into the bed loud and clear even when she's half way out the bay, headed straight for the triage list.

She gets two people into ICU. Four, she directs to theatres where surgeons wait to do their best. She sees half-a-dozen herself, suturing deeper wounds her juniors can't handle, administering central lines to those with poor access.

By midday, she's running on empty.

The histories have all blurred into one - blunt trauma, open fracture, penetrating wound, burn, collapse. She can't see the wood for the trees but she keeps going, falling back on ABC over and over, assessing the basics and delegating the rest.

Konstantin finds her examining a head injury.

"Eve."

"Give me a minute, I'm just - "

"It didn't work."

The CT request form falls from her hands.

He shakes his head. She watches him rub his face with both hands. "It didn't work," he says again and she stands, hurrying out on shaking legs, only a clipped _excuse me_ thrown her patient's way.

Konstantin catches her by the wrist. "Ninety-six minutes of resuscitation but - "

Her stomach heaves. She swallows it down.

"It didn't work," she nods, flat. She feels herself grow breathless, panicked, flushed with rage and guilt and dread and Konstantin's moving to hug her but he's too big and it's too strong, too much, too soon.

She shrugs him off as she barrels past.

The corridor feels tight, claustrophobic.

She rushes into the bathroom while her body still works.

She's barely over the bowl before she's vomiting, wracked with agonising cramps as she brings her breakfast up, her bitter morning coffee acrid in the back of her throat.

Her head throbs. She clenches the bowl tighter, the plastic filthy but cool against her clammy forehead.

Her vision swims. She stares into the pan at the green bile, hot, putrid as it wafts up to her.

"You really have a thing for bathrooms," a soft voice comes from behind her, followed by softer hands, on her lower back and then up her spine to smooth damp hair fallen from her bun.

Eve gasps. Her stomach curls. She vomits again.

Oksana hums lightly, wiping her forehead and dropping down to her knees to help. "You think maybe I got you pregnant?"

 _"Fuck,"_ she slams her palms against the bowl.

"Okay, okay," Oksana strokes her hair.

When she's done puking up her soul, Oksana jostles them into a sitting position, sliding them over against the cubicle wall. She squeezes her eyes shut so the room doesn't spin.

She has stabbing chest pain, the kind that comes right before a panic attack and lingers for hours on end. She fights to breathe through it but the air's just not enough, thick and sticky as it evades her lungs.

Oksana squeezes her hand. "Breathe, Eve. Try."

She feels Oksana's chest rise and fall against her cheek in slow, steady see-saws. She listens to the beat of her heart, the calming rush of her inhales and exhales. She wipes her mouth and tries to follow.

The anger clings on, claws sharp and raw inside her.

"Good. Keep going."

They stay like that for long, crawling minutes.

Oksana's still stroking her, gentle fingers against the side of her neck and in her hair. She doesn't say anything beyond _it's okay_ and _I am here_ and _you are okay._

She feels disgusting. It's pathetic for her to be reacting like this - a seasoned trauma expert with two decades under her belt. 

Oksana hugs her tighter.

"I - I don't know why - " she tries. Her throat is sore, hoarse from exertion.

"Because it's you."

"I shouldn't - it's not like - "

"Because you care."

"It shouldn't - she should have - I don't get - her parents -" she growls in frustration.

She had a whole afternoon ahead of her. She needed to get back to A&E and mop up whatever mess was left. How many more would she lose?

Carolyn was going to have a fit.

Oksana tilts her chin to look at her. Eve can still smell her own bile every time she opens her mouth so she presses it firmly shut, pushing and pulling against Oksana's persistent hands, not quite sure what she needs them to do.

"It shouldn't, you are right. It shouldn't happen. To her. To anyone. We shouldn't be here. But it is happening. And we are in the middle. This is London, Eve, remember?"

She can't recall the last time she'd been dumped in something like this. The tower block fire months back had been a tragedy, but this - this was unheard of.

In peak rush hour. Outside of parliament.

"This isn't right."

"No," Oksana nods, nosing against her forehead.

Eve gives in.

Oksana dips down to kiss her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

"Don't."

"You think it's gross?" Oksana smiles. "You smell terrible, but you are not gross," she says, tilting to kiss her properly.

Eve lets it consume her, but only for a minute. She lets Oksana hold her, kiss her over and over under the stark bathroom lights.

"I have a feeling Carolyn will fire all of us."

She scoffs. "Probably."

"There will be a lot of shouting tomorrow."

She laughs bitterly. "Isn't there always?"

"A lot of people will be very angry. But - it is only one day."

"The day from hell," she points out, head-butting into Oksana's shoulder. Her bleep goes off, and then Oksana's own.

"We will do what we can. And after? We will go to Konstantin's place and drink vodka. Okay?"

Vodka sounded perfect. She'd need liquid courage and a good hang-over to dull her senses, ready for the morning, when Carolyn called for a debrief and unleashed hell on the entire hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1!


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to twitter, three-shot Theseus and the minotaur Rome vs Ancient Greece aka gladiator!Villanelle coming soon. 😥

//

It's the worst hang-over of her life.

She feels it, thick and pulsing right below her ribs. Her head might just split open.

Every time she looks up, the room wavers just a little, and then stops only when her head's back in her hands, fingers wedged firmly in her eyeballs.

"Eve."

Carolyn's staring at her. She's doing it in that bemused, disappointed way that makes Eve wish she'd shout, get furious and dramatic just to make this quiet tirade end already.

Konstantin sits beside her. He gives her a careful look. He smells like coffee and cologne, and faintly of vodka - if Eve takes a deep enough breath, which she does, and instantly regrets. She wretches.

"Sorry. Yes."

"Are we keeping you from something?"

She swallows. The way her throat ripples makes her wretch again and she presses a fist against her mouth.

"No. Absolutely not. Go ahead. Sorry. Bad take-out -"

Carolyn drops her phone onto the desk with a loud clang and folds her arms across the cashmere fabric of her tunic.

Even with two dozen doctors there, all mildly disgruntled and anxious to get to various commitments, Carolyn manages to command the room without so much as a nod.

Eve hates it - the arrogant way she does it, always calculated and with a complete sense of detachment. She doesn't think she's ever seen her care very much for anyone.

"Certainly you should be the one paying most of the attention," she says provocatively and Eve pictures her cracking a whip, except her fingers drum against the desk and have pretty much the same effect. "And Konstantin."

Konstantin's eyes shoot up.

Something inside Eve sits heavy. It was one thing to be spat on, but another watching it done to her colleagues.

She leans forward to read Konstantin's profile, the outline of Oksana's to his right, smoother and paler than his, hazel eyes full of exasperation and ennui.

Oksana gives her a quick, uneasy smile. Eve wants to touch her.

"The hospital is allocated a pot of money."

_Here we go._

"I am aware," Konstantin bites. It's so unlike him, Eve stifles a surprised laugh, biting hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself.

"Marvellous. I bring it up, then, because your team seems to have taken liberties on how this money is spent."

Money Carolyn had _willingly_ invested.

Konstantin stiffens beside her.

"The simulation centre, ABG readers, renovation of your ICU - none of it seems to have helped our situation. Yesterday was an embarrassment, to say the least. Two hours and King's MD was on the phone asking how many beds to free up for us."

Konstantin moves to speak, stopped by the raise of Carolyn's hand.

"And it really does make me wonder to what extent we've been beating a dead horse."

"What?"

"Not to mention poor Eve here," the look Carolyn gives her makes her shrivel with disgust, "who sometimes struggles to tell her left from her right."

Eve scrapes her chair back. "Excuse -"

"Which, _of course_ , would be understandable under such trying circumstances, had she not spent the last nineteen years dealing with things of a similar nature that one would hope might prepare her for the worst."

The disgust turns to rage and Eve feels herself tense, feels her hands clench into the sides of her chair, feels her teeth squeak as her jaw grinds, feels her ears ring with desperation for Konstantin to stand up and, despite the potential consequences for himself, shout something brash and irrational like, _if you hadn't spent the last two decades fucking anything that moves._

Come to think of it, Eve can't recall a single instance when Carolyn had actually stepped up to the front line and proved herself useful.

Kenny had, most certainly. But Eve was sure he didn't get it from his mother.

"Whose side are you on?" she snaps.

A smile passes over Carolyn's face, short and mostly concentrated around her mouth, eyes grey with displeasure. "This is not a playground, Eve. One can't afford to take sides."

"That's exactly what you've been doing! Pitting teams against each other!"

"It baffles me that we've had the capacity - or willingness - to intake students from abroad, and often, quite frankly, with inferior language or clinical skill, when it's very clearly a struggle taking care of our own," she gestures to Oksana, who, to her credit, rises instantly and is only prevented from taking a lunge when Konstantin grabs her wrist and yanks her back down.

"I was _invited_ ," she growls.

"Yes. I do apologise for that."

"It is not my fault your hospital is falling -"

" _Hey!_ " Eve shouts.

Oksana doesn't appreciate it, from the glare she throws.

Eve powers through anyway. "Lobbing insults around as soon as something doesn't go to plan isn't funny or productive," she says and directs it all towards Carolyn.

She tries to keep her voice steady, to not add fuel to the fire, especially when she sees the seething look on Oksana's face, the one that makes her want to tear Carolyn down with her bare hands.

"It's a team effort. The team came through. Oksana was just as big a part of it as anyone else, maybe more so. It's not every day - _thank God_ \- that we get terrorists screwing around outside Parliament. Mistakes aside, I thought we handled it the best way we knew how. Two mortalities out of thirty-seven - those are good numbers."

"Eve did a fine job," Konstantin adds before Carolyn can step in. "Let us remember - outcome is the reflection of the leadership. If you are not happy with it, there is the mirror," he points boldly to the back of the exit door and watches Carolyn do everything to avoid it.

Eve gets a second wind. It's a good feeling - standing with her colleagues in the face of adversity. Instead of putting her arm around Konstantin or reaching over to take Oksana's hand, Eve hopes her words do what her body can't. "Xenophobia's unnecessary. Brexit's already doing most of that for us."

"Neither is mixing your personal feelings with your professional ones, Eve. I'd suggest you might also take a look at yourself before making an even bigger meal of things."

The words are stoic, quiet, but hurt more than any of the others.

Eve feels her whole body flush, with humiliation and residual anger, on Oksana's behalf but also her own.

The meeting moves onto morbidity and protocols, but all Eve can think about is Konstantin's advice and Oksana, who doesn't acknowledge her, only sulks in her chair and makes her wonder what the hell she'd done wrong.

Konstantin's with them but she can't care less when the three of them are in the induction room and Oksana makes no move to talk to her.

"What are you up to?"

Oksana continues to prep the medication, her eyes firmly on her hands. Eve steps in beside her.

"What's that for?" she points.

No response.

"Hey. What the hell?"

She gets nothing. Konstantin gives her a sympathetic look.

"Hey," she takes the syringe from Oksana's hands, and along with it, Oksana's attention. "What did I do?"

Oksana scoffs. She knots her arms across her chest and looks pointedly at her, not that it makes things any clearer. When it's obvious Eve isn't going to cotton on, she sighs. "I can handle myself. You don't have to _baby_ me."

"Wh - are you serious?"

"It wasn't your place to say! I had it under control, Eve, and you - you just -"

"Stood up for something I believe in!"

"Stood up for _yourself,_ when all I wanted -"

" _No -_ stood up for _you_. Was I just meant to sit and watch Carolyn shit all over -"

" _Don't_ talk to me like that, Eve. Do _not_ interrupt me. _Ever_. Do not shout at me. This relationship is about respect, yes? _Mutual_ respect -" Eve glances quickly to Konstantin, who waits by the doors, nodding in agreement, though Eve's grateful that at least he isn't nodding in contempt, "- honesty, communication, yes?"

When Eve only hums, Oksana seethes. " _Yes_?"

"Yeah, yes. Of course. _Yes_."

"So _let_ me communicate. I tell you when I need your help. You do the same. I know you will make medical director - you will be an excellent one, better than Carolyn and the person before her. I will be very happy for you - we will celebrate. But I can stand up for myself. I can talk to Carolyn without a babysitter. I need to study for my exam and I need to do my physiotherapy and I need to help Irina with her homework and I need to make you happy, so the last thing I need is not to be heard. Okay? I am -" she sighs, and Eve can tell she's exhausted, hadn't realised how much she had on her plate, how much it seemed to affect her. " _So tired_. I can't do this now."

She feels guilty, how could she not? She was only trying to help lighten the load so Oksana wouldn't have so much to carry.

Their relationship meant unapologetic equality. Eve cherished that and encouraged it. But at work - well, it was hard to get the balance right.

She felt senior and therefore responsible for protecting her team, especially when a member of said team just so happened to be someone she adored.

She mouths a gentle _I'm sorry,_ mindful of Konstantin's presence. Her hand still goes to Oksana's wrist, grasping her lightly against the counter before she has time to reach for more medication.

Oksana glances to her. Softens.

"Let's just finish the morning, okay?"

Eve nods.

They'll finish the morning list and the afternoon one, finish their commute and their dinner. And Eve will still find herself lying in bed, counting down the day Oksana sat her exam and she made MD, and Oksana met her friends and their ship could sail on, smoothly, finally and for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1!


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW 🥵

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For azra, for keeping this fandom fed and drawing the hottest shit around 👑

//

Eve stretches. There's blonde hair in her mouth. It covers most of her visual field and it's heaven.

In the wake of the terror attack, she'd spent a fortnight feeling nothing but physically and emotionally ragged.

She'd distracted herself by bouncing back and forth between rejigging her entire department and slowly making moves towards applying for Medical Director, now that Carolyn had finally made her bed and shown her true colours.

So this was good - taking a step back to surround herself with nothing but Oksana's warmth, her smell, her sturdy presence at home.

The week had been fraught with mismatched rota patterns, their actual time together spent biting chunks out of each other and then apologising in passing, with coffee or a kiss goodbye or a text late in the day. 

She knew it would happen eventually, the realities of a long-term relationship budding up through the foundations they'd made. She was good at tending to things though, a cynic and a realist as much as Oksana was herself.

She'd missed her, saw being with her like a soothing balm - one she accepted willingly and provided in equal measure.

She nuzzles closer, breathing in as Oksana shifts against her, tense and restless.

"What's wrong?"

Oksana hums. 

Eve listens to her turn the page of her text-book, the glare from her phone stark and annoying in the dimly lit room.

The TV drones in the background, ignored.

She props her head up to glance over a shoulder. "Are you even watching?"

Another hum. Oksana scribbles something in her book. Turns another page and growls when she realises her answer's incorrect.

"Okay. Enough," Eve says softly. She reaches over to swipe both the book and the phone, dropping them onto the floor to join the rest of Oksana's notes, her laptop, the stack of past papers and take-away cartons she'd brought home as a surprise, only to be met with a panicked _no time to eat, Eve, I have to study_.

"Eve!"

"Nope," she quickly sits up. Oksana glares at her. "No. Absolutely not - no way. You're freaking out."

"I haven't finished!"

Eve empathises, she does - she'd spent most of her life studying, putting in overtime, pulling all-nighters for vivas and essays. She knew exactly what it took to pass consultancy exams.

She also knew the meaning of rest and burn-out, and that cramming manically the night before usually ended in tears, insomnia, or both.

She takes Oksana's feet in her lap and starts, "Aspirin overdose causes -"

Oksana rolls her eyes. "Metabolic acidosis."

"Good. Anaesthetic agent contraindicated in hypertensives is -"

"Ketamine."

"Right. Contraindication to vasoconstrictors in local anaesthesia is -"

"Digital nerve block."

Eve smiles. She places her hands over Oksana's ankles, rubbing there in a way she hopes is reassuring, though Oksana remains unconvinced, if her miserable frown is anything to go by. "You'll be fine."

" _Eve_ \- fail to prepare, prepare to fail." It sounds like a communist moto, coming from her. And it's hilarious.

" _Oksana_ \- " Eve laughs, "you've been studying _forever_. You're going to breeze through. You need to take it easy tonight, you'll run yourself into the ground. Why don't I -" she shrugs, looking around the living room to find something that might help distract them both, then giving Oksana's toes a playful squeeze, "I could give you a foot rub?"

Oksana makes a face.

"No? Netflix?"

Another grimace. Eve sighs.

"A walk? Fresh London air," she says sarcastically, "to clear your head? We could even try a light jog - it'll be good for you."

That seems to be the last idea she's allowed to suggest because Oksana scoots closer to her, wrapping arms around her neck and throwing herself sleepily into the curve of her shoulder. "Too tired."

The thin material of her zip-up smells like softener and shampoo. Eve lets herself be held, Oksana's mouth parted and lazy against her neck. 

"Let's go to bed then. Early night, so you're fresh for tomorrow."

" _Bo-ring_." 

She feels Oksana nip her jaw. It's so unexpected and playful, she welcomes it eagerly, tilting her head, laughing again when Oksana makes a trail of kisses from her jugular up to her mouth, brief, delicate pecks that make all the tension from the past week fall away.

Each feather-light touch echoes in her navel. It sends shivers down the back of her neck when Oksana holds her there, grasping to direct her into a languid kiss that turns breathless once she has Oksana in her lap. There's want in her tired eyes, written across her lovely mouth Eve reaches up to touch.

"You could take my mind off things," she says innocently. Her hands move across Eve's shoulders, sneaking under her shirt and up to where a bra should be but isn't.

Eve lets her.

"Like you did in Paris."

Desire, molten and aching, bursts between her legs. She shifts against the sofa seat. "That was - "

"Good for your first try," Oksana says flirtatiously. 

Eve licks her lips. She feels Oksana grind down against her and then push her back gently into the cushions.

"I could remind you."

"I haven't forgotten," she points out, her eyes falling to Oksana's hoodie, collar bones bare and inviting above the line of the zip.

"I could remind you again. Just in case."

"I thought you were tired? And grouchy."

"Don't ruin my fun, Eve. You know -" she swallows, eyes bottomless and beautiful and Eve realises she'd missed seeing them like that, missed the intimacy and the challenge and the adoration, soft inside Oksana's hungry smile. "Back when we didn't know each other very well? I used to masturbate about you. A lot."

A laugh rises in Eve's chest and dies on her lips because Oksana's not kidding, not even a little bit.

She feels herself get wet.

"Too much?"

"That's uh - no, just -"

Oksana grins. She's pleased with herself. She's caught Eve off guard and she's undeniably smug about it. "I thought you were so beautiful. I wanted to keep finding you, to look at you. Do you want me to show you?"

Eve's not given a chance to respond because Oksana's straddling her, undoing her zip-up to leave nothing to Eve's imagination and the TV light plays across her bare skin in blues and shadows, skittering away every time Eve reaches to cover it with her hands. 

Oksana tucks her fingers into the waistband of her sweats.

Normally, Eve would watch her take her time - hands in her hair and across her neck where she wants Eve's to be, palms to her breasts and down her abs and up her thighs where she wants Eve's mouth.

Now it's just Oksana with her mischievous, giddy smile, knuckles moving under soft cotton, and Eve, laying back to watch it all, equal parts disappointed and grateful when moments later, Oksana takes mercy on her and leans down for a kiss.

"Like that," she breathes.

Eve wastes no time kissing back, nudging firmly into Oksana's mouth with her tongue, sucking and then biting down, hard, when Oksana lets out the quietest whine.

"Distract me, Eve," she sing-songs.

"This isn't you taking it easy," she means, but she's gasping and it comes out more of a plea and less of a warning.

"Yes but I'm very stressed," Oksana pouts.

Eve wants to kiss her again.

"So you either let me study, or you fuck me. Okay?"

Oksana falls back into the sofa then, and Eve follows, sliding down onto the floor to look up at her flushed, startled face.

She watches Oksana's throat bob on a swallow, then bob again when she hooks fingers into her sweats and underwear and slides them both off.

Her mouth waters. Oksana's fixed her with hooded eyes, thumb between her teeth. The hardwood floor lays harsh beneath her knees but she doesn't notice.

"Do you want to?"

Eve nods. She aches with affection, stronger and deeper than the arousal pulsing through her, though it's there, dying to be sated.

Oksana smiles gently. Then her eyes darken and she hooks a leg over Eve's shoulder to bring her close.

"Use your mouth."

She doesn't think she'll ever get enough of this. The first time she'd done it, Oksana had been very patient, gentle and verbal, and Eve could feel her restraint burbling beneath her skin in the way she'd tried not to buck, to grip too tight, to keep her voice steady so Eve could take direction.

Oksana's still all those things, but now her hand's firm in Eve's hair, right at the base of her neck, directing but not painful, and Eve likes it, rocking on her knees to get the right angle.

When she gets her first taste, she moans.

"Eve."

Her gaze snaps up. She keeps her tongue flat. Oksana fights to look at her, bare and spread across the sofa. Her mouth shines wet, eyes glossy with pleasure.

Eve stares and stares. She makes long, steady licks, diligent between the folds. She sucks gently at the top, lingering. Selfishly, she wonders if she could reach down and touch herself just to take the edge off.

Oksana grinds into her before she can, the muscles in her stomach twitching as her thighs clench. Nails drag across the top of her back and she knows Oksana's going to come, knows it won't take long, loves to watch the ecstasy wind up and rattle through her. 

Oksana pushes her away.

"Did I -"

"No," she pants, "no, no, this is perfect, it's good," nudging Eve back with a heel against her shoulder socket until Eve's falling across the scattered textbooks and Oksana's elbowing them out of the way, crawling across the floor and on top of her, glistening with sweat and dazed with want.

Eve feels her arms pinned above her head and into the plush rug. Her pulse roars between her legs. 

Oksana smiles over her. "I want to fuck you," she says casually after she's already yanked her t-shirt over her breasts, her mouth full with them, fingers clever as they navigate the buttons of her jeans. "I need to come."

And Eve misses the taste of her - the clean, tanginess of her, sweet across her tongue - and the sight of her - open and pink and vulnerable and pretty - but this is better, this is perfect, the rivalry, the play, so she lets Oksana inside her, lets her curl fingers once, twice, three of them against her G-spot, and then flips them with her thighs.

"So, come," she nods, riding down, leaning to give Oksana enough friction, to keep her mouth occupied by her neck and her nipples, to keep rough hands clenched across her ass. Her elbows smart from the weight.

Oksana fists her hair. She looks weak. Smitten. Eve kisses her. "Eve - I think I - I really - "

"I know," she says, snapping her hips, silencing Oksana with a fast kiss to nail her into the floor, "me too," but the floor's not enough to contain her and Oksana falls apart beneath her, shuddering and shuddering, sobbing her name as they both fall off the cliff.

"Will you pick me up after my exam?"

It's midnight. Eve feels guilty for it, anxious that Oksana might wake up too tired and too strung-out to take her test.

She turns beneath the covers. Oksana's bare body presses flush against her own.

"Of course."

"Will you bring me lunch?"

"I'll take you out. Anywhere you want."

Oksana nods, pleased. "Can we go for pancakes?" She says it with so much excited hope, Eve can't help but laugh.

"We can go for pancakes. We can do whatever you want," she says softly, "anything you want. Go to sleep."

"Okay. And then we will go jogging. Maybe. I want to see where you run."

Eve follows the silhouette of Oksana's smile shining in the moonlight, exhausted and happy. She traces it lightly with her fingertips, waiting only minutes until Oksana's eyes grow heavy and the rhythm of her breathing finally, quietly, begins to even out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone still reading, thanks for sticking with this, I know interest seems to have plateaued a bit! Not long now til the end.
> 
> Come tweet me your thoughts/feedback/suggestions for the remaining chapters @vracs1


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixy said Bill's baby's called Aubrey and now she is.

//

The stack of pancakes stares up at Oksana and Oksana stares right back.

Eve laughs. "Are you serious?"

Oksana had gone for extra-large, naturally, with bacon and eggs and fruit on the side. And a milkshake, because, why not.

"Yes," she nods sombrely, grabbing a fork and slicing right through the middle, a heaped bite shovelled straight into her hungry mouth. And then another. And another, until she's four mouthfuls in and Eve has to pull the plate from her just to remind her to breathe.

"You're an animal."

"Yes," Oksana says again, with a grin this time. There's blueberry jam on her chin. Eve throws her a napkin, appalled. "Thank you. You know, Eve, in Russia we say - and it is a rough translation - you are with your food how you are with things in your life. I have a big appetite," she shrugs, and there's a sparkle in her eyes, dark and flirtatious, leading Eve down an all-too-familiar path. "I know what I like, I am _very_ hungry," - Eve had first hand experience, in every sense of the word - "and I like to finish it all - although I will probably get a muffin - for after. Just in case."

There's a euphemism in there somewhere.

Eve doesn't dwell on it, too busy watching Oksana lick her fingers and then reach over to steal a bacon strip because she'd run out of her own. She flashes her a warning but Oksana takes no notice, delving into her food again.

"Pig," Eve whispers playfully, nudging her under the table.

Oksana laughs. "Keep me fed, keep me happy, Eve. You know this. We will teach you to cook - don't worry."

There's usually no end to their back-and-forth so Eve changes tack, spearing bits of her fry-up as she says, "So, tell me. How was it?"

Oksana hums, nodding. "Good. I think I will get full marks."

 _Ever the pessimist_. Eve smirks. "Because of your stellar tutor?"

Oksana catches on, shrugging nonchalantly as she chases a bit of sauce with her fingertip. She sucks, releasing with an obnoxious _pop._ "No. My tutor is a very _big_ distraction."

"Oh, _really_!"

"Yes. She has not been very _professional_."

"Is that right."

"Yes. She - " and Oksana looks at her innocently over the rim of her milkshake, then proceeds to take a big gulp, leaving the imprint of a moustache Eve absolutely cannot take seriously. It makes her cackle. "She has been taking advantage of her students. One student, actually. Private lessons but - you know, mostly in anatomy, on the sofa, and not noble gases. So I think her approach to ethics is very - questionable."

Eve lets her palms fall against the table, scandalised. "Oh, come off it!"

Oksana gives her a softer smile, an _I'm playing_ smile and Eve melts into it, welcoming the strawberry that's lifted to her waiting mouth, sickeningly romantic as it is. "Thank you for helping me."

"You're welcome. You didn't really need it."

"Thank you for keeping me calm."

Eve scoffs. "I beg to differ."

"Really. Thank you for looking after me," Oksana says seriously, straightening her knee under the table to make a point.

Eve taps her foot with affection. "It's the easiest job in the world." It wasn't - Oksana was still high-maintenance, stubborn, combative, bad-tempered but then again - pot, kettle.

"Now I will stop being an asshole, okay? I will help you with your MD interview. Promise. It will be amazing."

Eve squeezes her hand. She was nervous. She was due in front of a panel - three senior doctors and two members of the Royal College, and a tirade of difficult questions fired at her in quick succession: complex clinical cases she knew how to handle, and managerial ones, which made her stomach curl.

Still, Bill made a promise to practise with her, and Konstantin had already gathered feedback from others to help her along.

"I don't know. How's your knee?"

"You don't have anything to worry about," Oksana coos, running her thumb over her knuckles firmly, gentle circles to give Eve confidence. "You are so incredible and everyone can see it. They would be stupid not to give you the job."

"Bias."

"No," Oksana frowns and says a little louder, "I am being honest with you. Sure, you have amazing hair and you give me beautiful orgasms -"

" _Oksana_."

"- but you are intelligent and ambitious, you care a lot and you are an excellent leader," she insists, "so it is simple - they don't give you the job, we find an assassin. Okay? We will find one in Russia."

"You make a lot of promises."

"Sure. And I will keep all of them," Oksana winks and then after a quiet, heavy moment, "I have been thinking and - maybe we will go home and relax? I have had a hard morning. I ate a _lot_ of pancakes. I don't feel well. I want to see your favourite places but - are you still going to make me run?" she pouts. Her plate sits empty. She rubs her belly in a way that asks for sympathy, eyes big and round and hard to look away from.

She's so soft like that, pleading, Eve almost forgets what a pain in the ass she can be. 

She briefly wonders just how far she could make her jog before either of them threw up. They'd had it in the pipeline for months and a summer Wednesday afternoon off work seemed like the perfect time. She wanted to show Oksana her favourite coffee place, the private gallery she sometimes liked to frequent, the prettiest view of St Paul's Cathedral, a stall that sold the best _pastel de natas_ in the city.

"Absolutely. You make my life a living hell," she teases, "I figured I'd do the same."

Oksana shrugs her eyebrows, eyes wide as if to say _o-kay_ , and then just to spite her, reaches over and swipes Eve's cappuccino, the one she'd been saving best for last.

The thing about Oksana is - she's fast. And young. And competitive.

Eve figured she'd be athletic, if her skiing had been anything to go by. She was built for running - tall, slim, long legs Eve liked to look at, and more so now that she'd made an almost-full recovery and no longer had to endure being stiff or in pain. Her quads had taken shape, finally, after months of agonizing physio, one step forward and two steps back Eve had insisted on getting her through.

It seemed to pay off.

Eve jogs behind her, looking out for any sign of discomfort, any sign they're going too fast but Oksana takes it in stride, ponytail swinging in the morning breeze as they run beside the Thames.

"Feeling okay?" she says. She's breathless. She can't remember the last time she did this. She's rusty, of course, but it feels better, easier now that she'd gone a full three months without so much as a craving for a cigarette. Oksana had made sure of it. She wipes her temple and pushes on.

Oksana throws her a smile. "Good."

"You're doing well."

"Don't patronise me, Eve," she grins, speeding up on purpose so Eve has to race and overtake her, just to prove a point.

Sweat runs down her back. Later she'll regret it, but like hell was she about to let someone beat her at her own game.

Oksana falls in rhythm. Overtakes once more, but Eve keeps up. She looks happy, energised - all rosy cheeks and baby hair sticking to her neck, and Eve loves to see it, loves this care-free, relaxed version of Oksana, giving her a run for her money.

"A little bit of healthy competition, yes?" Oksana pants. The sound is oddly arousing, even as Oksana clears her throat and reminds Eve of the constant city smog.

She's able to count on one hand the number of times Niko had agreed to come along - and he always looked a mess doing it, sweaty and miserable and _slow_ , and for as long as she can remember, she'd been grateful to do her own thing without someone to complain, to insist that _running in London should definitely be banned_. Until now.

"Keeping me young."

"Yes," Oksana nods proudly, pointing over to the Tower of London. "Chase me!" and she's off before Eve has a chance at a reply, dodging past mid-week tourists with a pleased smile on her face.

Eve takes off after her, chases after her, even though she'd spent the better part of the year doing so, even though she already fully, whole-heartedly had her, her shouted _asshole!_ lost to the wind.

They cover just short of five miles. Eve's fitbit beeps with her vitals and then flashes as they wind down into Dulwich.

Oksana folds over, the muscles in her back heaving in short, steady bursts as she leans against her shins and wipes sweat from her forehead.

Eve steadies herself against a wall to stretch her quads. "Are you okay? Knee okay?"

"Mhmm. Tired."

"Yeah," Eve laughs.

"Hungry."

"Jesus, of course you are," she rubs at her calves. She pulls her phone out of her armband, then glances up when she notices Oksana looking at her admiringly, a coy smile on her face.

"You are so sexy when you sweat."

"Don't be gross."

"I mean it," she growls, stepping forward in the lilac evening light. Eve's never felt more disgusting in her life. It'll take hours to untangle her hair. She's desperate for a shower. Her clothes stick to her. 

Oksana kisses her. Just a peck to the corner of her mouth and then another to her nose. "Let's go home."

Eve's phone flashes again and she grunts, clicking it shut and then taking a deep breath to deliver the news.

"So uh - "

"Hmm?"

"I thought we'd take a little detour. While we're out. And - there's no food in the house so I figured - I mean - "

" _Eve_ ," Oksana warns.

"Bill wants to see us."

Oksana stiffens. It makes Eve flood with guilt and apprehension because, it wasn't fair for her to be doing this but - maybe it was best if she did, nice and quick, like a band-aid.

"A pit-stop. He's on our way home. Just a hi-bye, maybe a brew - is that - do you - mind?"

Oksana worries her lip between her teeth. She's anxious, Eve can tell. It's sweet and funny, knowing Oksana would never dare admit it.

"No, not really." 

"Okay! Great!" She sighs happily before Oksana gets to change her mind. "You'll love him," she promises and she's already leading Oksana gently down the street towards the cul-de-sac of Victorian houses, reassuring her that it would be fine, that he'd been looking forward to meeting her for months (which was true) and that it would be just the three of them (which was a lie, possibly, though Eve hoped for the best). Between work stress and everything else, she needed this, and because Oksana came so easily with almost no persuasion, she was excited. 

Her best friend meeting her - girlfriend, was it? Lover? Partner? Colleague? - was scary but important. Semantics didn't matter. She'd figure it out in the moment. Regardless of the name she chose, she knew Bill would welcome Oksana with open arms.

And he does, swinging the front door open as soon as the bell goes, his daughter perched on his hip, a delighted smile on his face.

The baby blows a raspberry, spittle dripping down her chin and onto his vintage jumper and Oksana fights to hide her disgust under Eve's amused gaze.

Eve gives him a one-armed hug to buy Oksana time, then proceeds to pinch Aubrey's cheeks and pepper her face in kisses.

"Hi, sweet girl."

"Hi darling," Bill says lovingly, kissing Eve's head and stepping aside to let them in. 

"This is my -- Oksana," Eve stumbles. Bill shakes with stifled amusement, extending his hand to Oksana who returns the favour confidently but with a soft _hello_.

"The girls just made enchiladas. Elena had to stop by for something and Jess -" he shrugs, "God forbid she miss out."

"Two babies then?" Eve bites her lip, glancing to Oksana and mouthing an apology in response to her wilting look. It goes unnoticed by Bill as he leads them through to the main living space, Eve's question answered by happy, gargling shrieks from the kitchen where Jess and Elena crowd a pram, and Eve sees and is entirely unsurprised by, the pair of shit-eating grins that turn to greet her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1 for feedback/snippets/general fuckery!


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay at home fuckers.

//

"So are all of us unemployed now, or - " Eve announces, arms across her chest.

Her friends scramble to explain themselves, doing everything to seem disinterested in their new visitor. All eyes are on Oksana though, so Eve begins to introduce everyone, raising her voice over the commotion as Oksana lingers by the doorway.

Elena instantly steps up, unable to curb her excited gaze fixed firmly on the blonde.

Jess snorts.

"Hi guys - hey - hello," she dips her chin, aiming for her best casual self as she shoves her hands into her pockets. "Elena. Is my name. _Obvs_. You're Oksana."

Oksana gives her a funny look, checking with Eve to make sure this wasn't out of the ordinary.

"Elena has a boyfriend," Eve says helpfully, shrugging when her friend gives her an incredulous gawk.

Elena moves, a picture of chivalry, to offer them both drinks, forgetting that they weren't, in fact, at her house.

Bill steps in to help.

"You must be parched - what d'you fancy?"

Eve watches as Oksana glances down at herself. In hindsight, they probably could've done with a change of clothes beforehand.

Oksana was a big fan of first impressions and Eve hadn't exactly given her a fighting chance.

But Elena's looking at her like she's God's gift (not that Eve disagrees) so she relaxes a little, knowing Oksana was going to get showered with compliments at some point in the evening.

"Anything - is fine, thank you," Oksana smiles politely.

Eve couldn't lie - it was amusing, seeing her out of her depth. She knew Oksana usually navigated social situations from her little finger. She was nervous - _really_ nervous - though, and Eve knew she was the cause.

It gave her butterflies to think about.

Bill deposits Aubrey in her arms as they move to the dining table and he turns to make lemonades.

Emma lounges quite happily in Jess' bouncing lap.

The babies reach for each other and Eve's glad for the distraction, keeping Jess occupied so Oksana doesn't have to juggle three conversations all at once.

"Are these ASOS?" Elena gestures to her pink leggings.

"Sweaty Betty."

Elena _tsk_ s. "'Right. Hot. I mean - " Oksana finally cracks a grin. "Listen - I'm just going to go ahead and stop beating around the - bush," she grimaces, pulling a genuine laugh from Oksana. "I saw you give that talk with Konstantin yonks back - your audit..."

"Oh. Yes. Very boring."

"No! It was - fascinating," Elena lies.

Eve's having a field day.

"- I just think you're like - the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen," she stutters, "and I'm like - _super_ straight -"

"Lies," Bill calls from the counter.

"- but you're super hot and Eve _really_ lucked out -"

"Eve is very amazing," Oksana says graciously.

Eve had no doubt the two would become fast friends. Oksana responded to flattery and Elena was clearly more than prepared to give it.

And keep giving it.

"Uh-huh, yeah, defs - very amazing," Elena corrects herself, looking to Eve with an innocent smile, reaching to pinch her cheek. "Love of my life."

"You're literally the most fickle human being I've ever met," Jess says flatly.

It's the first time Oksana's heard her speak. She accepts an ice-cold lemonade from Bill with an appreciative nod and a gentle brush to his arm, then leans to take interest in Eve's other friend.

She's deterred somewhat by Emma, whose face she can barely make out past the snot and spit and various bits of baby-food, but she tries her best, gulping her drink to steel herself.

"Eve says you are the best registrar she has ever had."

Jess snorts. "Of course she does. I paid her."

Oksana frowns.

"I'm kidding."

"Language barrier - she does that a lot," Eve jokes.

Oksana's face falls. She changes tack.

"How was the - recovery?" She looks to Emma with some unease. She doesn't mean to be impolite but her uncertainty comes across clear as day and Jess bites back a quip, wiping Emma's face and kissing her soft head.

"Traumatic. The worst. Couldn't have sex for months."

"Jess."

Jess mouths a _what?_ at Eve, then nods towards the table. "A third degree tear will do that to you. Hey, pass me that, will you?"

Bill slides her glass over. "Jess is what we like to call, a _potty-mouth_."

"Oh, whatever. S.E.X," she says for the benefit of the babies, and then, "Shut the fuck up."

"Mmm," he nods somberly. "See what I mean?"

Emma reaches for Oksana before she can respond.

Oksana squirms in her seat.

"She doesn't bite. Mostly."

"Sure."

"You want to hold her?"

"Uh -"

She locks eyes with Eve over the top of the baby's head. Eve watches her soften.

"Not...really?"

Emma grabs a handful of puree and smacks herself in the forehead. Jess gives a sympathetic nod. "So - you're from Paris?"

"Russia," Elena corrects proudly.

"St Petersburg," Bill adds and makes Eve cringe.

She hadn't exactly filled Oksana in on just how much her friends knew. It was hard not to talk about her though, when, quite frankly, she'd quickly become the epicentre of Eve's world.

"Grew up in St Petersburg for a short time," he continues as if holding a lecture, and Eve would just die if not for her friends, who seem genuinely riveted, and Oksana, who looks on with unbridled cockiness, preening as Bill recounts the details of her life.

He flits around his kitchen, plating up the enchiladas. "Moved to Paris to study at the Sorbonne, isn't that right, Eve?"

Eve hums, embarrassed.

Oksana squeezes her hand under the table.

"Here," Jess passes her six-month-old over so she can help Bill with dinner.

Eve already has her hands full, so she shifts Aubrey onto one thigh and balances Emma on her other. 

"Top of her class, multi-lingual," he continues, "delicate features with sort of - cat-like eyes that are completely inaccessible -" 

"Oh my _God_ , will you _stop_!" Eve growls, mortified.

"Thank you, Eve," Oksana jokes.

"Ignore him."

"He's right," Elena shrugs. "You're stunning."

"She knows. She's an egomaniac," Eve wiggles her eyebrows, then instantly regrets it when her plate of food arrives and Oksana makes absolutely no effort to help relieve her of either child.

"If I looked like that..." Elena bites her lip.

Oksana takes time to really analyse her then, checking her out head to toe so she can give an honest compliment. "You are very attractive. And you have beautiful skin."

Elena slumps in her chair, lifting her eyes to the heavens. "I have ascended."

"You - behave," Eve warns.

Oksana already has her mouth full, tomato sauce smeared around her lips.

"Honestly, I'm not sure which of you three is worse," Jess forks her food sensibly, glancing from Oksana to the babies.

"I am trying to be a good book for your friends," Oksana mumbles.

The three of them laugh.

"Get into my friends' good books, is what you mean," Eve rotates her ankles. Her legs are starting to go numb from the sheer weight of hoarding two chunky wrigglers. "And not like that, you're not."

"We like a woman with a big appetite," Bill reassures.

Eve finally has enough, jealous that all of them had finally settled to have their dinner. She lifts Aubrey off her knee and pushes her towards Oksana. "Here - take the clean one."

"What?"

Bill scoots over to help her. "I can take her."

" _No_. You just sit down and enjoy your food, you're host," Eve snaps at his hand with her teeth. " _Oksana_."

"But -"

There's that pout again.

Elena's staring at the both of them with a look so sickeningly sweet and enamoured, Eve hopes Oksana does something outrageous just to break the spell.

But she doesn't. She pouts and whines and finally takes Aubrey, holding her as far away from herself as possible, and then eyeing Bill to make sure she has his approval.

He taps his fork against his plate. "How did I know you'd be a natural? She likes you."

"No she -" Oksana's cut off by Aubrey's small, sticky hands, reaching up to paw at her face when she brings her against her chest, palms landing on her cheeks and smooshing into them. Oksana cringes, trying to pull her head away but Aubrey holds steady, shoving her fingers into Oksana's mouth. "Please - no."

Jess stares at Eve. There's a knowing sort of look in her tired eyes and then an eye-brow raise, but Eve doesn't say a word.

She savours the domestic feeling greedily.

"So since you guys aren't at that stage yet - I'm assuming - or you might be, I don't know - are you?" Elena side-tracks.

Oksana's jaw drops. "What? _No_."

"No," Eve laughs. "Oksana can barely look after herself."

"You are so mean to me, Eve. What have I done to hurt you?"

She's playing up to the crowd. Eve can tell because her friends are loving it and are totally on her side.

"Babies are gross," Oksana blurts, " - not - not yours, these are - " Aubrey's chubby hand swipes and collides with her nose, "very nice. Very - wonderful," she winces, rubbing at her new injury.

Jess gives up on her plate and spares Eve by taking Emma back when she starts to fuss, her tiny face scrunching in displeasure at being jostled, and her tiny mouth grimacing and then opening in a loud wail.

Aubrey wriggles against Oksana in response, kicking out.

"No - no, you are fine, you are okay," Oksana panics. "Shh. I don't -"

Her shriek pierces the room.

"I think - maybe she is - broken?"

Bill steps in with a doting _daddy's right here, sweetheart!,_ thoroughly entertained when Oksana makes a face.

Their peaceful time together comes to a halt because none of them manage to get another word in over the noise, the plates unfinished as Bill rushes to take Aubrey for a nappy change and Jess settles in for a feed.

Elena finishes her plate calmly, topping up her drink.

"So, anyway. D'you two fancy coming to yoga some time? There's a banging charcoal-ice-cream place I've been dying to try and it's right next door to Yogahaven, we could - y'know - go together."

Oksana purses her lips, nodding thoughtfully. "Yes, I will come."

Elena's eyes widen. "Really?"

"Sure. I am very good at yoga."

"Yeah, with that bod, there's no way on God's sweet, green Earth that you wouldn't be."

Eve sighs, exasperated. She pats Elena's cheek. "Okay so - we have to get going."

"What? No!"

"Yeah," she throws Oksana a smile. "Oksana's teaching me to cook so I don't screw up when you guys come over."

"We're coming over?" Elena practically glows with anticipation.

"If you play your cards right."

Jess finally pitches in, tit to the wind. "Sounds good, Eve. We'll bring pizza."

Oksana snorts in agreement.

Eve swears to herself they're going to have words, as soon as they get home and as soon as she's done smothering Oksana in kisses, and total and complete gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Socially distancing? Come tweet me @vracs1 for covid updates from the front like and fic-related chitchat!


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter - thanks for tuning in!

//

Oksana hovers by the bedroom door, sleepy and relaxed, hair a mess of waves down her shoulders as she lifts the envelope at Eve.

"It's here."

Eve scrambles to sit up.

The sun blisters through the window. She squints her eyes, motioning for Oksana to join her back in bed.

"Are you going to - open it?"

"Sure," Oksana shrugs. She pads across the floor and back between the sheets, her naked body beautiful and entirely distracting. Somewhere in the night, she'd taken off her clothes, the summer heat stifling inside her studio flat.

Eve tries her hardest not to stare at her, and to stare at the envelope instead, very much unopened as Oksana stretches lazily, her spine arched, poised for Eve to smooth her fingers down.

She _almost_ does.

"Open it."

Oksana whines. She looks bored. She looks inconvenienced by it all, like she'd rather be having breakfast or making love or postponing reality forever. She tilts her head at Eve, her bare neck silhouetted by the morning light, hair clean and loose, mouth open to say _kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._

When Eve doesn't, she falls into a pout, long fingers tucking beneath the flap to rip the paper open.

There's a quiet, stifling moment where Eve suspends her own breath.

She had no doubt Oksana would pass with flying colours. Her arrogance verged on egomaniacal, but hardly ever let her down.

But - what if? What if she'd missed by a mark, what if she'd misread a question, or rushed through, or taken too long?

What if she had to resit and Eve had to watch her go through it all again: the sleepless nights, the endless studying, Googling, Youtube videos, begging Eve to be her question-bank.

Eve was all for it, but not if it meant Oksana going through hell twice.

She sits back, elbows sunk into the pillow to give her space. And then -

"Candidate number 10659, we are pleased to inform you -"

"Thank God," Eve sighs.

Oksana grins slyly over her shoulder.

"I told you."

"Oh, fuck you," Eve laughs. Her heart starts to beat again. She hadn't realised just how nervous she'd been on her behalf. She'd spent most of the night restless, tossing and turning beside an oblivious Oksana and her peaceful body cocooned in white sheets.

"Fuck me," Oksana's eyes flash. She starts to giggle when Eve reaches for her and puts arms around her waist, pulling her in to give her congratulatory kisses, kisses that mean _I'm so proud of you, you're amazing, you're the best, I worship you, I adore you._

When the kisses turn hungry, bursting with relief and urgency, Oksana pulls back, breathless, and wraps her fingers around Eve's neck, cradling her there greedily. "When you come home tonight, I will be in bed with a Medical Director, okay?" she looks Eve dead in the eye, flushed.

Eve gulps. She's pulsing with arousal. And happiness. And a jumble of nerves, reminded that she had her own panel to contend with, her own future waiting to be handed to her only hours later.

She brushes her fingers over Oksana's hand, moving the palm up against her cheek to kiss it.

"Okay."

Oksana:

_Any news?_

Me:

 _No_.

Twenty minutes later -

Oksana:

_How about now?_

_Me:_

_Still no._

Oksana:

_I hope you know I was kidding this morning. It was a joke. It would be very sexy of you and I know you will get it! But there is no pressure. Please don't worry. I could celebrate you every day, it does not matter what position you hold._

Eve:

_Stop with your flattery._

Oksana:

_I'm soft for you, Eve. We know this._

Not five minutes pass.

Oksana:

_So what is the verdict?_

Me:

_My meeting isn't til after lunch. Are you going to let me finish my list or..._

Oksana:

_I will behave. I promise._

Eve's phone flashes with a photo, the colours nude and pale but tempting enough. She opens the file discretely to take Oksana in, undressed and still very much in bed, her wrist tucked beneath sheets and a small, coy smile on her flushed face.

Me:

_You'll get me fired long before any promotion._

Oksana:

_Promotion or not, there is a surprise waiting for you when you come home baby._

Oksana:

_By the way_

_The surprise is me!_

Eve snorts. It looked like she was destined for a win either way. She pockets her phone and rubs at her neck, the nervous tension tight beneath her muscles.

One more hour.

One more and she would know, and knowing would definitely be better than not knowing because this was torture, and not the kind she happily let Oksana tempt her with.

She lets herself into Oksana's apartment, the space lit with evening sun and candles.

The only sound she hears is soft bossa nova coming from the kitchen.

She sets her blazer by the door and toes off her flats, cradling the groceries she'd picked up as she moves gently through the apartment, searching Oksana out.

"Hey genius," she smiles and Oksana spins to greet her.

She doesn't move, hands on her hips as she waits for Eve to give her some sort of hint.

Eve fights not to grin at the expectation there, the look of indignance at the growing stretch of silence between them.

It's hard to think of anything else when Oksana stands in her kitchen like that, trouser-less, in an oversized white men's shirt, looking like a wet dream with her loose bun and her long legs. Eve wonders if she could fast-forward the evening straight to the part where they're somewhere on the tiled floor, naked and drunk and on their umpteenth orgasm.

"Do not make me wait, Eve!"

Eve sets flowers for her on the counter and lifts a Champagne bottle with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

"You did it! You did it?" Oksana squeals and then stops, chewing her lip in awe, and Eve finally nods, finally acknowledges her own success as she's swept off her feet and lifted off the ground in a spin and then a hug, Oksana's face buried in the crook of her neck to inhale her and kiss her and squeeze her tight.

"You are serious? Eve, fuck! You are Medical Director! That is - Jesus, it's - Are you happy?"

Eve nods, "Yeah! Relieved - mostly - but yes, yeah, I am! It's just - I can't quite believe it!" she smiles.

"Believe it. You are _so_ sexy, you are always so sexy but -" she pulls back to stare at Eve, in her very professional linen button-down and chinos.

Her hands lift to smooth down Eve's collar, down her arms to hold her hands.

"You are especially sexy now, very accomplished and powerful," Oksana husks out, "with your big, beautiful brain and your terrible clothes, look at these," she laughs and God, Eve wants to shove her but it's too captivating - how genuinely ecstatic Oksana is for her - so she lets it happen, Oksana's hands all over her all at once, and then her smiling, laughing mouth singing her praises at every turn.

"Alright, it's - thank you, for - you're sweet, I didn't think - "

"I didn't doubt it!" Oksana pulls her towards the kitchen, "You are my favourite doctor - _don't_ tell Konstantin -"

"Oh I think he knows."

"- and the best one in the whole hospital. Konstantin was right from the beginning. You are very special and I am very lucky."

Eve laughs. "What?"

"You know this. I am lucky to know you. To have you. My very smart, beautiful, _grumpy_ -"

"Have me?"

"Yes," Oksana nods decisively, gesturing to the fresh ingredients she'd laid out, as if her words meant hardly anything. "You are mine. Are you hungry?"

"Wait - what?"

"Well - you are your own person," she waves her hand nonchalantly to appease her, "you are very independent _._ It is very good, sure, because feminism is very important. But - you are mine. You come home to me. You belong with me."

"Really?" Eve plays along. She looks dubiously to the counter.

"Yes. And you know what it means?"

"Hmm."

"We are going to teach you how to cook, so we can live a long and healthy life together, and so you don't poison your friends."

Eve whines. She had it coming. Secretly she'd hoped Oksana would cook - something incandescent like fresh truffle pasta, with lots and lots of wine and slow, sated love-making on the couch.

She supposed this would do. She'd planned on expanding her dinner repertoir beyond ramen and beef chilli, just not quite so suddenly and with ingredients she barely recognised.

"Long life together, huh."

"You are changing the subject, Eve," Oksana chides but she's beaming, and her smile widens as she passes Eve a slimy-looking tube, its texture wet and slippery in her hands.

"What in the actual fuck -"

"That is a squid, _doragaya_ ," she explains. She says it patiently, like she's talking to a child, and Eve fights to keep her eyes from rolling. "We are going to introduce you to some very nice things: squid, chorizo, fresh prawns - _very_ fun to peel! -" she lights up with excitement, "because now you are a Medical Director, Eve, and I am almost a consultant," she jokes, "and so when your friends come, we will impress them and you will be hostess with the mostness."

"Mostess," Eve drops the squid, wiping her hands gingerly on a teatowel.

"And later, we will have dessert. I have bought cake," Oksana opens the fridge to show Eve proudly, and there's more Champagne there, carrot cake and chocolate brownies and a selection of fruit that catches Eve's eye, but before she can appreciate it or stick her hand in for a snack, Oksana nudges the door shut and pins her against it. "But there is other dessert too."

Eve feels her insides flutter.

Oksana holds her against the fridge, hips pinned to her own.

She pictures Oksana dropping to the ground. Pictures her leg slung over her shoulder. Pictures her hands in Oksana's hair, palm to her cheek. Wonders whether the words would come if she let them, whispers of _good girl_ and _that's it_ and _you're doing so well, baby_ and then Oksana, with her wet mouth and pretty eyes, sore and succumbed to her knees.

She watches Oksana's head tilt, eyes affectionate and dark against the honey shine of her hair, the stark white of her button-up. She wears a feral, restrained smile and Eve pulls her close, watching that smile melt into something softer right before they kiss.

"We could have dessert before dinner?" she tries but Oksana has none of it, giving her one parting kiss before stepping away.

It always amazed Eve just how quickly she could shift, from playful to focussed, but always hard to resist.

"Nice try," Oksana kisses her knuckles, reaching for the least intimidating knife she can find. "Here. We will start small. No accidental stabbing."

"No, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Eve grins, making an exaggerated overhead slicing motion.

Oksana stares back, unamused.

Seconds later, Eve comes face to face with the squid once again, and knows, with as much certainty as she's ever known anything, that this is going to be the longest evening of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1 for fic updates and general shit talk!


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last one!! I can't believe it either.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who stuck with this, read it, commented, kudos'd, favourited, shared etc. It's been a TRIP and I now realise I could've had a whole ass baby in the time it took to finish!
> 
> Let me know what you want to read next and hope the ending satisfies! 
> 
> Stay safe!
> 
> ✌

//

Eve's stressed.

She'd started off okay.

She'd had the entire day planned out, the menu set, everything under a strict schedule.

Except now it definitely isn't and she's starting to freak out.

She pours more wine into the rice - because, hello? - and then quickly seasons with more paprika - because Oksana had taught her that saffron did bugger-all, and she'd been undeniably right.

Then there's the mussels, which need adding at some point and the prawns, which need steaming, and she hasn't even considered the scallops, which were going to be the starter but at this rate won't even see the outside of the fridge.

Oksana spins on her tiptoes and grins.

Eve can hear the music blaring from her headphones. She points to her own ears but Oksana ignores her, cradling the plastic bowl to her hip and continuing to whip up whatever it was she'd planned for dessert, hopping and skipping around the flat as if there weren't twenty minutes left before the arrival of their guests.

She's made no effort to change her clothes.

Eve would be mad if it weren't for her pretty pink robe, long and translucent as it sways around her ankles, and her cute bare feet on Eve's wooden living room floor, and the fact that she most definitely isn't wearing a bra, though Eve tries her hardest not to look.

The doorbell rings.

"Fuck. _Fuck_ ," she panics, jogging over with the back of her dress undone. She waits impatiently for Oksana to zip her up before feeling a quick kiss at the nape of her neck, and another, and finally a parting smack across her ass Eve doesn't have time to retaliate to because the bell goes again, followed by a quick knock and she might _just_ write the whole evening off.

She hopes it's Elena or Jess or even Bill, who's usually good at giving last-minute fashion advice when Oksana's clearly too occupied to.

But it's Konstantin and his wife, her laugh stifled politely when she spies Oksana over Eve's shoulder, fully engrossed in her music.

"Sorry. We are a little early - the prawn cocktail is not so good in this weather," Konstantin grins, ushering Natasha inside.

Eve practically melts at the gesture, the food neatly wrapped in aluminium foil as she leads them down the hall. She wonders whether Oksana had at some point given them a gentle heads-up, inspiring the foresight to bring starters, just in case the kitchen went up in flames.

When Oksana spots them, she makes a silly face at Konstantin and slides one ear-phone back to wave in greeting.

"Are you being naughty?"

" _Always_ ," she dips her finger in the cake mix and flicks it onto his nose, then scoops a generous amount with the spatula and puts it straight in her mouth.

Konstantin gives Eve a warning look.

"Is she making it or is she eating it?"

"She's eating it. My friends'll bring stuff - and there's cake in the fridge so I really don't understand why -"

"You can never have enough cake, Eve!" Oksana sing-songs, setting her bowl on the kitchen counter and throwing her headphones off. "Hello Konstantin. Natasha," she smiles.

The two share a complicated exchange of kisses Eve enjoys seeing - Natasha holds her as if she were family and Oksana eats it up, looking smug with her chin tucked into auburn hair. "Okay. I will get changed."

"Hurry up. This needs to go in the oven."

Oksana rolls her eyes. She moves to Eve sweetly, giving her a quick peck on the lips and an affectionate, patronising pat to the cheek. "I have it under control, _liybimaya_. You cannot rush perfection."

The doorbell rings again.

"Fuck. _Go_. The _one_ bloody time people show up on time, _Christ_."

Konstantin only laughs as he leans against the bar, his eyes full of mirth as he sets about making an Old Fashioned for himself and a gin for his wife, recognising that as good as Eve's intentions were, now was probably not the time to put in drinks orders.

"- And I'm finally getting rid of him!"

Oksana sighs dramatically, offers an exaggerated pout and drops her fork onto her empty plate. "And giving him to me."

"You can handle him - you've handled him before," Bill says diplomatically, "or so I hear. Pretty well, at that."

"He is _annoying_."

"He _is_ annoying," Jess laughs, looking over to Eve.

She dusts off her hands and wipes her mouth. "He's - _ugh_. He's exceptionally great at screwing up but - he's a good kid, just - aloof."

"He asked me if DNAR forms came in any other colour 'cause red seemed _a bit garish_."

Eve tries not to wince.

Bill was right. Hugo was every senior's nightmare. It seemed things hadn't much changed, and he'd managed to single-handedly sail through Orthopaedics _and_ Geriatrics without a single significant incident or call to panel.

In a week, it would be August again and another academic year, sliding into A&E this time where Oksana would be waiting for him, no longer tethered to the anaesthetics block of her ACCS training.

Eve knew the day would come when they no longer got to work together.

The reality of it meant Eve would spend most of her time in clinic or, thanks to her new promotion, in meetings and conferences, and Oksana would be in ED, managing resus under a consultant who was not Konstantin.

Fortunately the summer months had brought an ever-growing overlap between time spent at Eve's house and long weekends in Oksana's apartment.

Their lives had blended so effortlessly, Eve was not one bit worried about work keeping them apart. Besides, it technically meant that, although she was now big boss, she wasn't _Oksana's_ boss, which negated any semblance of unprofessionalism that might have been a concern before.

"We will whip him into shape," Oksana says in a cut-glass English accent, gleeful when Eve flashes her an I'm-so-proud-you're-nailing-your-idioms smile.

"Sure he won't mind one bit," Elena smirks.

Jess shoves her. "Tell me, Dan. Do you ever get tired of how predatory your girlfriend is?"

Elena's boyfriend sets his beer down and sets his arm around Elena's shoulders instead. "With this face?" he pinches her chin, and then turns serious, " _Ja_ , a little bit."

Jess snorts.

" _Anyway_. I guess Eve being a total BAMF now," Elena quickly changes subject, "equals Bill getting more Geries funding, yeah? Please say yeah 'cause my research wraps up this week and if I have to beg one more gastro arsehole for an NG tube, I swear on my mother's grave -"

"I'll pull some strings," Eve winks at Bill. "We'll pour cash into Geries and figure out our ICU beds. Anaesthetics had a good run there, but with Carolyn gone, I figured we'd give some funding to -"

"Eve," Konstantin says in warning, "don't forget - we are friends."

Natasha pacifies him with a hand to his forearm.

"No - we _are_ , that stands! Friends first...colleagues later."

"Ah, _ja_ , the old mix-business-with-pleasure conundrum," Dan jokes but there's no bad blood, least of all when Eve steals Konstantin's whiskey to take a shameless sip.

"Reckon you'll miss working together?" Jess' husband asks.

He wasn't medical but Jess kept him pretty clued in and Eve liked that about him - the fact that he took active interest in their lives when someone like Niko wouldn't.

Oksana looks to Eve and then to Konstantin, and then to Eve again. There's a careful smile there, half disappointed and half comforting.

"Absence makes the heart -" she laughs, "- nah, I'm kidding. I'm sure we'll get to see each other all the time," she nods to Konstantin cheekily, but gives Oksana's knee a squeeze beneath the table.

"And you two love birds?" Elena wiggles her eyebrows. "Bet it's super sexy now Eve's top of the food chain."

Oksana licks her lips. "You have no idea."

"Yes, super sexy," Eve says flatly, "and incredibly stressful."

"We will be fine," Oksana shifts in her seat. She takes Eve's hand between both of her own, rubbing it gently and then bringing it up to her mouth for a brief kiss.

Eve would die of embarrassment if it didn't feel so natural and her friends didn't grin so hard, barely batting an eyelid.

Konstantin moves to top up the drinks.

"I will have Jess back with me in theatre. She will tell me if you decide to be an asshole, yes?"

Jess flashes a smile. "Oh, absolutely."

"I am not an asshole," Oksana says indignantly, pouting when Bill chuckles.

"You know - I remember sitting _right_ here, having this exact conversation, oh - how long ago would you say? September? Jesus - time flies."

Oksana perks up at this, propping her chin in hand so she can give Eve a suspicious side-eye as Bill continues.

"What things did you say about me, Eve?"

"Nothing!"

"Something about not letting an obnoxious little asshole tell you how to run things, hmm?” Bill raises a bushy brow.

"I _never_."

"Eve used to go on and on, about your accent, and your trainers, and how you wore your hair that day, and -"

"What is wrong with my trainers?" Oksana scoffs, folding her arms across her chest in a way that says, _You are in big trouble, Eve, and I am going to enjoy this!_

 _"_ What - _nothing_! They just - they were -"

"Stylish as fuck?" Elena suggests helpfully.

"They were," Jess mumbles.

"Yeah - they were! They were just - _distracting_."

"You were distracted from day one," Konstantin wags his finger. "Oksana was a very big distraction, no?" 

"Not just a distraction," Eve says softly.

Natasha hums.

It makes Eve feel like she's sat with the in-laws, the way Natasha admires her knowingly and then flicks her gaze to Oksana in adoration.

"Ma- _hoosive_ distraction," Elena clinks the ice in her glass. It shatters the delicate atmosphere that had threatened to settle.

Bill takes it in stride, raising his drink to help move the conversation along.

" _So_ \- To you, Eve - congratulations on your new promotion, you gorgeous thing - it's been a long time coming! And to Oksana - because let's face it, you probably did most of the cooking, though we'll give you A for effort, Eve, darling," he teases.

The group laughs, arms extended for a collective toast.

When Eve looks around, her friends are happy and her home is full, and Oksana is right beside her, wearing such an infatuated, euphoric smile, Eve feels it reflected on her own face.

"And to the both of you - for hosting us, for being two incredibly strong, kind, ferocious women, and for finding each other, to make a pretty terrific pair."

Being MD, unfortunately, doesn't excuse Eve from on-calls, which she's quick to learn.

She changes out of her scrubs, downs her fourth Americano and hopes it's enough caffeine to get her through her commute home and straight to bed. 

The night shift had been long.

Her phone had rung off the hook and she'd been forced to make fast decisions about bed transfers and code reds. Though it involved little time on the front line, she certainly felt the weight of responsibility, sudden and heavy on her shoulders.

What she hadn't had time to do, was call Oksana. Not tonight.

They hadn't managed to meet for midnight coffee. She hadn't had a minute to pop to A&E and catch up. They weren't able to sneak away and indulge in things Eve had thought up but had little time to enact amidst their mostly-clashing schedules.

But Oksana had sent her texts and Eve had tactfully hid two Snickers bars in the staff room cupboard just for her, promising via post-it to catch her in the morning.

The slog is worth it then, when she finally steps out into the light of day, bins the rubber gloves that had snuck their way into her back pocket and turns to hear her name called.

"Polastri!"

Oksana's grinning, bottom lip between her teeth as she saunters over. She maintains an air of professionalism but she's coquettish, hands casual in the pockets of her trousers as she waits for Eve to respond.

"Astankova," Eve plays along, fighting the smile that tugs at her eyes, "Good morning. How was your shift?" 

"It was good, thank you Eve," Oksana nods, pressing the lift button, "it is always good, I know what I am doing."

When the doors close, Eve softens, letting herself laugh finally as she leans back against the mirrored wall. "Did you get your Snickers? Are you okay? I missed you."

"Yes, delicious, and yes, very excellent," her eyes shimmer as she licks her lips and leans for a slow kiss. 

There's hands in Eve's hair and along the cotton of her summer button-up and for a moment, she hopes the lift dies and traps them, just for a few minutes, just so she can get her fill before they embark on the painful journey home. 

But the doors ding and Oksana has to scoot away, careful not to touch hands as they head towards the glass reception doors and out into the blistering morning.

When Eve turns, Oksana's eyes are tired but on her, skin bright and tempting.

Eve slides an arm around her waist to bring her into step.

"Do you want to go and get some breakfast?"

Eve has a vivid flash-back to last year, to how much anger she'd had for this woman, whom she barely knew, who barely knew her, who'd been a glorious mystery and a gift to unravel. 

"With you?"

" _Yes,"_ Oksana whines, then straightens, alert and mockingly suspicious. "Do you have another girlfriend?"

She likes the way that sounds, curled and clumsy inside Oksana's mouth. She hadn't heard it before, hadn't used the word herself.

She thinks she might start to.

"No, not yet," she teases, dragging Oksana left and right to dodge passers by.

They stay linked despite the human traffic and it becomes a game almost - seeing how many people they can avoid bumping into, how long until they break apart.

But they don't.

Eve waits until they're at the Thames to lace her fingers with Oksana's and lead her across the bridge in the direction of their favourite creperie.

On the other side, Oksana spins to pin her against the railing where the sun beats brightest and the wind smells like the city. "O- _kay_. So do you want breakfast?" she smiles, tucking curls behind her ear.

The breeze picks up then, and Eve's hair comes loose in Oksana's hands to leave her just as dazzled by it as she'd been the first time.

"With you?" Eve grins. Her whole body comes alive. "Yeah. With you, always."

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come tweet me @vracs1 for more shenanigans!


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